Carmine Resources Ltd., a public mining company located in Vancouver, Canada, engaged the services of Mr. Amadou Savoi. He was to oversee the application for a gold exploration permit in NW Mali. Soon after Talya Kartz’s arrival in Bamako, Mr. Savoi disappears along with his niece, Rheza McLean. Talya needs to find them in order to clear Carmine’s name of any wrong-doing in the embezzlement of funds, alleged bribing of government officials and involvement in the murder of Richard Gillman.

Talya’s investigation leads her to Dakar where she discovers that the embezzled funds have been invested in the illegal mining of Sabodala in SE Senegal. With the able assistance of Hassan Sangor, a Malian attorney, and Captain Sahab, a private pilot, she unravels the mystery behind Savoi and Rheza’s disappearance and the murder of Richard Gillman.


BAMAKO

The Savoi Affair

a Novel

By

Aribert Raphaël


Bamako – The Savoi Affair
© Copyright 2010 Aribert Raphaël
All rights reserved
First published in 2004 – ISBN 1-4140-2487-8


The localities, including Sabodala, landmarks and government organizations mentioned or described in this book do exist. The characters and events are fictional. Their resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is purely coincidental.


Acknowledgements

I wish to mention the enormous contribution from my friends and colleagues in Vancouver, in Paris and in West Africa—thank you to every one of you.
I also extend grateful thanks to Maitre Alhassan Sangare, (Mali), Mr. Yanssané, my school principal (Guinée), Mrs. Haby Dembélé (Mali), and Mr. Mamadou Fané (Mali) for allowing me to draw on their knowledge of West Africa to write this book.


He could still see the human shape escarping the beach, bringing to mind an incongruous remnant of a sand castle, the white hand clutched in a fist as if its owner wanton thoughts of vengeance beckoned beyond death.


1
Talya read the letter again.

James Flaubert, President
Carmine Resources Limitée
Heritage House
Vancouver, BC
Canada

Dear Mr. Flaubert,
In the latest annual report, you announced the company’s move to acquire several exploration permits in Mali. The report also states that you have appointed Mr. Savoi as Carmine’s agent in that country.
I have a large portfolio of investments in various mining companies, one of which is Carmine. Therefore, and as what I would consider, a major shareholder in your enterprise, I would like to obtain some clear and precise explanations as to why no apparent progress has been made toward the acquisition of these permits. It seems to me that there should have been some tangible results in this regard, if some of the unverified reports, emanating from the stock exchanges, are to be believed.

Awaiting your reply,
Yours truly,
J.C. Reshane

She rose from her desk and walked down the hall to James Flaubert’s office. The letter left very little to interpretation—the man was not happy. James had indeed authorized the forwarding of large payments to Mr. Savoi on a regular basis for several months now, without much result. This shareholder wanted and deserved some explanation.
When Talya entered his office, James swivelled his chair to face her. He saw her with the letter in hand and waved to her to sit down. He was on the phone.
A few years ago, Talya Kartz came home to Vancouver. She had left Australia in the middle of summer and had landed in Canada in the middle of winter. The pouring rain, even dripping wet felt good, because she was home. Meanwhile, she was also out of work and frustrated right out of self-confidence. Several years of drudgery Downunder, although some of it self-imposed, had left her with very little credence in her judgment and ability. She had not been fired, or anything that drastic, but she had come home when she had felt she still had time to repair the damage done to her self-esteem.
If her self-confidence was perhaps a worrisome subject, her figure wasn’t. Talya was a petite, slim, yet curvy woman with a head of blond—almost white—curls that had been the envy of many a girl. Her allure, her demeanour, in reality, everything about Talya was attractive.
Shortly after landing in Vancouver, she remembered sitting on the bed in her hotel room, the papers spread-open around her, going through the classifieds, and looking at all the jobs that could not possibly be hers; she had found nothing, nothing that would pay the bills next month. New apartment, new furniture, new this, new that…, all of which was going to add to zero money much too soon.
Eventually, a friend of a friend, as it often happens, told her about a gold mining company that was looking for an executive secretary. Without holding much hope of success, she went through the paces of interviews conducted at the employment agency where her friend worked, the ritual of giving references and the usual rigmarole of too numerous skill-tests. Since she had been told that he was out of town, she didn’t have a chance to meet with the man who was to become her boss. This wasn’t a good sign, as far as she was concerned. Two weeks later however, to her great relief, and somewhat to her surprise, Carmine notified her that she was to be at their offices, in downtown Vancouver, the following Monday at 9:00AM sharp. Talya’s bruised ego got a Band-Aid.
In the first year, she climbed the ladder to Assistant Director. This time round, Talya reached the top rung with relative ease, although her mouth did most of the stepping up. Her self-confidence also returned at a gallop when she began receiving some recognition for her efforts.
James’s office was particularly bright. It enjoyed the light from the morning sun and none of the west-side heat. Unfortunately, James was a highly disorganized individual. The leather couch tucked under two of the windowsills, the large desk, the credenza, the round table in the corner, the chairs, in fact, every square inch of every piece of furniture was covered with piles of files, unfolded maps, books and opened briefcases or bags.
The floor was equally encumbered; gadgets, tools, hockey sticks, some more folders everywhere, and sacks of rocks leaning against the walls on either side of the wardrobe. Talya had never seen a wardrobe in an office before working for James, but he liked to hang his jackets and a change of clothes somewhere else than on a hook behind a door. On the wall behind his desk, his diplomas, degrees and certificates fought for space with his children’s drawings and souvenirs or photos from his numerous trips abroad.
Every time she wanted to gain access to a chair, Talya had to find a passage over and around the mess. Once she had found the chair, she had to remove files or books before she could sit down. That morning proved no different. She removed some files and a briefcase from a chair and sat waiting for James to finish his conversation.
James Flaubert was a Frenchman, born and bred in France and schooled in Britain. He had curly grey hair, a thin face with a long nose, gentle blue eyes and an attractive boyish smile. With his shirtsleeves rolled up to the elbows, no tie, no fuss, and an almost always-casual attitude, he looked more like a technician than a president of a successful enterprise did.
Talya admired James for his perseverance in founding and keeping this small mining company afloat, while riding the waves of market fluctuations that could otherwise have been its downfall. She often embraced his optimism and felt strongly about his forthright honesty. He was compassionate and sensitive. Yet, he had a liberal trust in his fellow men, which may have been a flawed trait of his distinct, steering character.
At last, James hung up. “So, what do you think?” He closed a desk drawer. “What’s happening with our applications?”
Talya shook her head. “I don’t know what to think. There are a few things I don’t understand. For one thing, Mr. Savoi is being paid, handsomely I might add, every month and for what? To receive a letter from him saying that everything is fine but ‘these things take time’…”
James shrugged.
Talya fell silent.
“Yes, I know all that.” He reclined in his seat, crossed his legs, one ankle over one knee. “What really bothers me is that apart from his salary, we’ve made other transfers to his account. Some of these were supposedly to pay for the processing of the applications, and that was expensive…”
“Did we ever get any accounting statements for these expenditures?”
“Sure. And you know Ken; he’s gone through everything.”
“I guess he would,” Talya agreed. As Carmine’s CFO, Ken Davros had very few equals when it came to sifting through complex accounting ledgers. “What if he received reports that were not actually what they appeared to be? Could he check on those?”
James shook a finger at her. “That’s just it! That’s exactly what bothers me. Ken has checked everything, and he’s found huge discrepancies between the receipts Savoi sent and the amounts we’ve been transferring to his account.” He reclined even further in the seat.
“There you are then, if Savoi has been fiddling with the books somehow…” She bent her head, averting her eyes from James’s gaze. “You know, I can’t help feeling that we’ve been taken for a ride.”
Instantly, James brought the chair forward. “What do you mean by that?” He put his elbows to rest on the desk blotter, his long hands stretched flat in front of him, and looked at Talya intently. She had his attention.
She lifted her eyes to him. “Look at it this way, we’ve been told things are going to take time, but you signed an agreement with Savoi in May of last year—that’s ten months ago. I’m sure it shouldn’t take that long to process these applications. And another thing, why do we need to apply for twelve permits when we only need one?”
“I guess I have to believe that’s the way they do things down there. Savoi said—”
“Here you go again.” Talya was getting annoyed. “You’re relying on Savoi’s word and where did that get us? Nowhere. No, this isn’t the way things are done, not even down there.” Talya’s mouth was running away with her feelings. “You’ve asked me what I think and what I think is that Savoi has been filling his pockets for months now. If someone doesn’t go down there to take a look at what’s going on, we’ll never see any permits.”
Somehow, she had hit a nerve. Neither of them spoke.
After a moment, James uncoiled his lanky frame out of the chair and came round to sit on the edge of his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at Talya.
“What would it take for you to go to Mali? You’ve lived down there; you know the people and you seem to know what it takes to file permit applications. You have the—”
“You’ve just got to ask me, that’s all,” she flared.
“Then, I’m asking.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll go then.” As Talya articulated the words, she could not believe she actually did so, as if beaten into acceptance.
James turned away and went back to his seat. He picked up the phone and called Stanley Baron, the company secretary and resident attorney. The other directors needed to sanction a decision such as the one he contemplated making, thus he called a meeting of the Board for the next morning.
Looking down at the letter in her hand, Talya sat silent, fidgeting. Tugging distractedly at one of her blond curls and biting her lower lip, she was trying to focus on what just happened. If not for some unforeseen, opposing votes, she was on her way to Mali to try to resolve a sizeable problem. That mouth of hers had seen her in trouble more than once, and now here she was again….
2
Richard looked at the call-display in disbelief. He would know that mobile number anywhere. Hjamal! The man must be in Canada again. All of the memories came flooding back to Richard’s mind instantly as he picked up the receiver.
“Yes?”
“I’m sure you know who this is.”
“Yes, I do. What do you want?”
“I want you to come back.”
“I’m sorry, did you say; you want me to come back? Back for what?”
“I want you to come back to Africa. I want you to come back to work for me.”
“No way!”
“Don’t be too hasty, Richard. You and I know I can be very generous when it comes to paying for your services.”
“Yeah, I remember. I also remember how much it hurt.”
“You survived, didn’t you?”
“No thanks to you, that’s for sure.”
“Now, now, no need for reproaches between friends. What do you say we meet?”
“Where are you?”
“In Toronto.”
“What are you doing here?”
“That, and other things, will all be made clear to you once we sit down and talk. Shall we say in an hour at the restaurant near the Chapel’s entrance of the Eaton Centre?”
“You got it. I’ll be there.”
The caller hung up and Richard looked at his watch. An hour to get to the Eaton Centre, in this traffic … it’s going to be tight. He didn’t know what the deal was, but he was sure of one thing; he was not going back to Africa unless it would be worth his while. Granted, he needed another job, and fast. Granted, he wanted to get back in the mainstream—but not at the price he paid the last time he was involved with the African.


3
At nine precisely, on that fateful morning, after taking a last look at her attire—a two-piece blue suit with a white shirt and high-heels that were as uncomfortable as ever—Talya entered the boardroom with some apprehension and teeming butterflies in her stomach. She had spent a rotten night churning all kinds of dreamlike imaginings. She even saw herself on camel back chasing after Mr. Savoi across the desert ... until she finally fell asleep.
Carmine’s boardroom wasn’t such. Its casual, informal décor would have led anyone to believe it was a mere meeting room, at best, rather than a ‘boardroom’, but it served all of its purposes very well indeed. There were eight black leather chairs, a little worn around the armrests, each neatly tucked halfway under an oblong mahogany table. The four windows opposite the door offered an encompassing view of the city and of the harbour. A Chinese rice painting hung on the one wall and a framed Old World map on the other, below which a credenza stretched its length from the window to the door. Standing in readiness at the one end of it, there was a computer terminal and keyboard. At the other end, a coffee urn headed a marching band of cups and saucers, a plate of biscuits, and a tray with a small jug of milk and a sugar bowl, all of which, Sabrina, the receptionist, had brought in earlier that morning.
James, as President of the company, sat at the head of the table. Sitting opposite him, Ken Davros was relaxing, cup of coffee in hand. He brushed a glance in Talya’s direction when she came in. His lined forehead and ready frown betrayed the inquiring mind behind his mild behaviour. Ken was an absolute wizard at tax sheltering, and at focusing the company, but in Talya’s opinion, he lacked basic people skills. For Ken, employees amounted to assets. Assets added to figures and figures were an assemblage of numbers—a paycheque to be signed at the end of each month. If anyone in the room would be opposing the expenses associated with the proposed assignment, it would be Ken.
Terry Cortland, Carmine’s Exploration Manager was snuggled into a corner of the boardroom, a notebook in his lap. He was in his fifties and not an ounce overweight. His facial features were steadying and unmarred by the signs of age, revealing the man’s equanimity that many of them in the company had needed in moments of uncertainty or indecision.
Two other Directors were standing by the window, looking somewhat ill at ease. One was in his sixties, tan-faced. He reminded Talya of her grandfather. His white hair probably had something to do with it. The other was a little younger, but of equal presence and commanding stance. They were both retired and only came to the office on occasions such as the one that had brought them in this morning.
The fourth member of the Board, and co-founder of the company, Louis Daniel, could not make it. He was somewhere in Guyana.
Talya sat down beside James. Terry got up, went to help himself to some coffee, and offered her a cup. Since she didn’t have time for much of anything when she first arrived at the office, Talya accepted gratefully. The steaming brew hit the spot.
Although the Directors and other members of staff were chatting casually, some nodding and smiling at her once or twice, the tension floated in the air like an ominous cloud. Surveying the scene, Talya kept her own counsel. These men in their wisdom had made a mistake, a five hundred thousand dollars mistake.
After what seemed like hours, James rose and called the meeting to order. In one chorus of movement, everybody sat in their usual chairs. School was in.
Stanley, who had the never changing looks of the lawyer ready to step into a courtroom, sat opposite her. He had been doodling on his note pad since she came in. Now pen poised and riveting his attention on his boss and on Talya, he was ready to take down the minutes of the meeting. Ordinarily that would have been Talya’s duty, but since she was the ‘subject’ of this meeting, Stanley offered to do the honours.
James dispensed with the formalities rather quickly. Eyeing everyone in turn, he began summarizing the facts and circumstances that led him to the conclusion that someone, namely Talya, should go to Mali to try to redress the situation. After a brief pause, he opened the floor for discussion.
The questions went from mild ones like “What do you intend to do about getting any of the permits?”
To more inquisitive kinds such as: “Do you really think a woman can go into an Islamic country and start accusing a personality of the community, such as Mr. Savoi, of fraud, and hope to achieve anything?”
To ultimately reaching the somewhat offensive stage of: “We are aware of your experience of Africa, Talya, but you’re only a secretary. What makes you think that you can handle a problem like this one?”
In addition, as she expected, Ken had to add a few questions of his own, mostly related to the expenses she would incur during the trip. He also took the opportunity to remind everyone that they all needed to cut down on expenditures rather than adding to them.
During the proceedings, Talya kept her mouth in check. For her that was a feat in itself. She also tried to answer every question in a calm and collected manner. Trying was not hard; succeeding was. No one had seen those butterflies that had been nearly choking her with each answer she had given. An hour later, the meeting was adjourned and Talya was assigned to leave in two days’ time.
She went home that night feeling odd. She lived in a one-bedroom apartment overlooking the ocean shore and the mountains beyond. It was by no means a spacious place but it was more than enough for her, and it was comfortable. The view, of course, made it even more appealing.
She locked the door behind her, put away her coat and kicked off her shoes. Whew! That felt wonderful. She went to the kitchen, opened a bottle of wine, poured herself a glass, and carried it to the living room. She sat on the sofa and took stock of the day’s events. Odd, was definitely the word to describe the sensation that was slowly invading her mind and body. She turned on the stereo. The music was soothing and the wine started to calm her nerves. The sense of foreboding, which had intruded on her thoughts earlier, seemed to dissipate a little. Distractedly, she went through her mail—there was nothing of interest. If one could call a bill ‘an interesting’ piece of mail, then yes, there was the hydro-bill that retained her attention. It reminded her that she would have to call the answering service, advising it of her upcoming ‘holidays’. That also reminded her to check her messages. There was only a message from Aziz, saying that he would like to have dinner with her this weekend. She would be gone by then. How am I going to tell him that I am leaving? I don’t even know how long I am going to be away … down there. Africa. A daunting thought.
Aziz Hendrix was her boyfriend—she hated the term, but it best described the man with whom she spent most of her leisure time. Did she love him? Talya didn’t think she did. She felt comfortable with him, she trusted him and he was there for her—most of the time anyway.
She went to check what was in the fridge—not much. She was not hungry but out of habit, she gathered, cleaned and cut some vegetables in a bowl. It was to be her dinner. She added a piece of bread and some cheese. She ate without appetite and drank the rest of her glass of wine, lost in thought. Once the dishes were put away, she went to take a shower, put on her favourite bathrobe and sat at her computer in a daze. Talya had to come to terms with it. She was going back to West Africa.
More than apprehension roamed her thoughts that evening. In her diary, she wrote:
For all the days, for all the nights spent in fear, I swore never to go back. The hurt has been too great, the pain too hard and the memory too harsh ever to forget the nightmare of Conakry—how could these men do such a thing to me? I was only fourteen and they ravaged my soul, and tomorrow I shall go back.

Before heading down there, Talya had to contact the local geologist in charge of the area. The next morning, she phoned Jean-Claude Gauthier, a Belgian veteran of the mining world. He had kept an eye on the situation for the past several weeks and had sent reports (to file) regularly and when he said that things were not going well, Talya didn’t wonder.
“Now, Jean-Claude, can you tell me if Savoi’s made any further progress with our applications?”
“No. It seems we’re going nowhere. Monsieur Kane, you know, he’s the Director of Mines down here. He says the applications will be processed as soon as some of the irregularities in the submissions have been corrected.”
“Do we know what he means by ‘irregularities’?”
“No, not really. Kane says he wants to see someone empowered to assume responsibilities for these applications. He says Savoi hasn’t given them all the documentation they needed or … something like that anyway.”
“Okay, I’ll see about that when I get there. Anything else I should know before I go?”
“Yes…” He hesitated. “There are rumours floating around…” Silence. “Talya, are you there?”
“Yes, yes, I’m here. But what do you mean by ‘rumours floating around’?”
“Just what I’ve said. Somebody’s been saying that we’re about to start mining several sites in Northwest Mali. They say we’ve got as many as a dozen concessions up there and that we’ve found gold.”
Talya was stunned, to put it mildly. “That’s ridiculous! You know as well as I do we haven’t got any permits to do anything. And who’s been spreading these rumours anyway?”
“I have no idea. But you know people down here—they’d say anything to show they’d know more than the next man.” He sounded embarrassed.
She hated gossips, and poor Jean-Claude felt the brunt of her irritation when she assaulted him over the line. “We need to know who’s been spreading these rumours. Damn it, you’re right there. You should know who has been doing all the talking and you should have told James or me. At least you should’ve mentioned something in those reports you’ve been sending…”
“Hold on, Talya. I’ve told you these are only rumours and they shouldn’t amount to anything. That’s why I didn’t mention it before. Anyway, it’s not like people are shouting from rooftops.” They might as well have.
“Do you have any idea what this sort of speculation could do to our stock? You and I, my friend, would not have a job by the weekend. Do you realize that?” If the letter to James was anything to go by, the damaging flood of speculations had possibly begun. “Listen, I’m sorry to jump on you like this, but this isn’t something we could correct easily, and you know it.” Her anger was abating slightly. “I’ll talk to James before I leave and he’ll probably issue a press release to stave off any possible repercussion.”
“But, but … I really didn’t think these gossips would reach the stock exchange from here.” His discomfiture was audible now.
“Okay, let’s hope you’re right. Don’t worry about it for now. We’ll get to the bottom of this one way or the other. Just keep your hat on until I get there, and please, tell Monsieur Kane that I’ll meet with him as soon as he’ll be able to see me. Oh, one more thing, have you seen Savoi?”
“No, I haven’t seen him anywhere, but he’s been around, that’s for sure.”
Talya apologized once more for her outburst and hung up.
4
In the early seventies, Talya’s father, a physician, decided to go and cure the ills of Africa. Through a tireless dedication to his work, he unwittingly showed his daughter what a young girl should never see. The misery and the pain of fighting for mere survival were staring her in the face, around her, every day. She saw people implore for pity and simple kindness or attention to their never-ending sickness. She saw humans reduced to animal-like forms by diseases and horrible living conditions. The Dark Continent was bleeding from the scars of colonization. It was suffering from a long, incurable disease called ‘Progress’.
The first time she returned to Africa after spending several years in Europe, going to college and hesitantly taking her first steps into the business world, Talya found that modernization had trespassed on the ancient continent. It had helped several countries emerge from the anarchy of independence. Wasn’t it Churchill who once remarked, “Independence was an unwelcome disruption to nations which prior to the First World War had shared a common economy, government and laws”?
As the years marched on, unfortunately, progress and poverty became bedfellows. Today, many people are merely subsisting in slums that emerged from the vestige of dead colonies, while many others are living in luxury homes mushrooming from foreign investments. This atmosphere breeds corruption, which, bar a few exceptions, is now running rampant almost everywhere throughout Africa.

On her way to Mali, since there were no connecting flights to Bamako on the day, Talya decided, with James’s approval, to stop over in Dakar; the capital of Senegal situated at the western-most point of Africa. This city is a relic of an Old French settlement with busy streets and narrow sidewalks, where people jostled to fray a passage amid the dense horde of cars, buses, donkeys, horse-drawn carts and hobbling beggars. Even the many large tree-lined thoroughfares bearing such names as ‘Avenue George Pompidou’ or ‘Boulevard Charles de Gaulle’ ail from the seldom-interrupted traffic jams.
Throughout the years of abundance and hardship, this old city kept its charm. In Dakar you could find the most luxurious mansions abutting the poorest shacks and the cleanest beaches strewn among the filthiest fishing coves, and not unlike a small version of Marseille, with its very busy port, markets everywhere, selling everything—if you need it, you’ll find it in Dakar.
Yet, Talya had another reason for visiting the Old Marseille. Three months before her departure, a man who, by all accounts, was seeking to find a mining partner, paid a visit to Carmine. He was a handsome, tall African man. He walked down the corridor leading to the boardroom with a graceful, yet purposeful stride. The broad shoulders tapering down to a narrow waistline hinted at the man’s muscular stature. However, the two long scars on his left cheek, deeply etched on his coffee-coloured skin, distracted Talya from noticing the tentative and somewhat timid smile that brightened his face when he came near. His allure and manner exuded charm, but his eyes reflected anxiety and distrust. His name was Ahmed Hjamal. He came to Vancouver in need of professional assistance. Apparently, he had planned and had begun the construction of a gold-processing plant in Senegal and now wanted to engage Carmine and hire their technical knowledge.
James and Talya met with him. During the meeting, Ahmed Hjamal showed his pretentious side as well as his grandiloquent egotism. James told him at once that his company was not for hire but he also made it clear that the Directors could look into a form of association that would eventually benefit all parties concerned. Monsieur Hjamal wanted nothing to do with that offer. He wanted control. He had money, he said. He wanted to buy the knowledge he did not have. The meeting ended quickly, and their guest showed his displeasure by marching out of the office without awarding another glance to his hosts or to the bewildered receptionist; perhaps understandably so, since he had travelled to Vancouver intending to buy help and was now going home empty handed. Whatever this man wanted or coveted in life, this man got. He would not easily take ‘no’ for an answer.
5
Richard went through the double doors of the Eaton Centre quickly. The temperature had dropped drastically the night before, and the walk from the parking lot nearby chilled him to the bones. He could have parked underground but it was quicker this way.
As he entered the restaurant, he spotted Hjamal immediately. He was impeccably dressed as usual. His investments must have paid dividends, Richard thought. That was the thing about Africa, you made it big, or you died a pauper—or both.
Richard sat down and looked at the African inquisitively—he waited.
Peering into the eyes of the man sitting opposite him, Hjamal said, “Here is your ticket,” handing Richard an envelope.
“Not so fast,” Richard retorted, pushing away the envelope from under his nose. “I haven’t said that I’ll go back. I want some explanation first.”
“What sort of explanation?” Hjamal asked, leaning to the back of his chair. “There’s nothing to explain.”
“You said on the phone that ‘all will be made clear’. I need some sort of assurance from you. I don’t want the same problems as I had the last time I was working for you.”
“Correction—last time you were at the site I was not your employer, this time I am. You work for me now.”
“Again, I should remind you that I haven’t said I’d go back.”
“The envelope contains your contract, the advance, and your return fare—what other assurance do you want?”
“How much?”
“What I consider a fair salary.”
“How much?”
“Look for yourself—”
Richard grabbed the envelope. He opened it and gasped.
“I thought that it would sway your decision somewhat,” said the African with a faint smile crossing his lips.
“Yeah, it sways it all right, but let me hear what I have to do for that much money.”
Hjamal told him.
6
Following her meeting with Hjamal, two weeks later, Talya received a phone call from “a friend,” the man said. His name was Abdul Rasheed. He asked her if she could assist Hjamal in his venture.
“Again!” she uttered with annoyance. “I thought we made it quite clear during our meeting. Carmine is not for hire.”
“Yes, yes, so you said … but, if you could, we would appreciate your assistance in helping matters along. We would like to find a company that we could engage to do the job and complete the building of the plant.”
“Mr. Rasheed, let me say this: I’ll look into it for you. And if I find a company ready to take a look at your proposal I’ll let you know.”
“Thank you. Your assistance will be much appreciated.”
After a few parting words, Talya slammed the receiver down in sheer exasperation. At the time, she remembered thinking that she, definitely, did not like the man’s voice or his smooth appeal. They sent shivers down her spine.
Why doesn’t he take a hike? Why indeed? Abdul Rasheed’s persistence was peculiar. On the other hand, she felt Ahmed Hjamal failed to divulge vital information when he came to Vancouver. In the end, during one last conversation with this Monsieur Rasheed—he had called a couple more times in between—she had arranged to meet with Monsieur Hjamal in Dakar.

7
The aircraft landed at Léopold Sédar Senghor International Airport in the middle of the night. Talya had not been there in many years. What she remembered of Dakar’s airport—formerly known as Yoff’s Airport—had nothing to do with what she saw when she alighted from the plane. The terminal building was modern, well organized and very well lit. A bus came to fetch the passengers from the aircraft and carried them two hundred yards to the entrance marked ‘arrivals’.
She walked in with the herd toward the immigration desks. She filled out the forms and after fifteen minutes of waiting in line, she presented her passport to a man in khaki uniform. He stamped the first blank page available, asked her where she was staying and waved her to move on. Abdul Rasheed had told her that he (or someone) would meet her in the arrivals’ lounge. She doubted she could rely on that promise. She was right. There was a handful of people waiting for passengers and holding pieces of cardboard with the name of their party on it. None remotely resembled hers.
Coming out of the immigration enclosure, Talya was assailed by porters; they wanted to take everything she carried and help her through the baggage check and customs’ formalities. She did not want any help. She knew that accepting any assistance would lead these boys to asking for tips—not merely asking—but demanding more than a handout. She took her time, making tracks out of the sweat-smelling crowd, pushing, shoving, and grabbing her suitcase from the carrousel without too many hassles. She even got a trolley, which wasn’t leashed onto a porter, and in a few moments, she had her luggage examined, tagged by a burly customs’ officer, and was out of the airport.
The next hurdle was to find a taxi that would carry her belongings and her safely to the hotel. Usually, in almost every country in the world, this is a very simple task; not in Africa, and certainly not in Dakar. She took a cursory glance at the series of wrecks lined-up near the curb and shook her head. None of them appeared to be able to travel any distance safely, let alone make a twenty-mile journey to town. The taxi-men beckoned and shouted. Since there are always men but almost never any woman coming off a flight wanting a car at this time of night, Talya became the perfect prey.
“Which hotel, ma’am?”
“How much you pay me?”
“We go to the service station then we go to the hotel, yes?”
“I take French money, d’you have any?”
Among the yellow heaps, closer to the sidewalk, Talya picked one, which she hoped would hold together long enough to take her to town. She called out to the driver. “How much to the Terranga?”
“For you, ma’am, 20,000CFA,” he demanded.
$40 to be carted around in that wreck! “I don’t think so,” Talya said mockingly. “I’ll give you 3,000CFA and a thousand more if you get me there in a half-an-hour.”
As the cabby shrugged his shoulders and turned away, she saw another chauffeur approach. Sadly, he looked hungry enough to take her offer. His vehicle resembled something rescued from the wrecking yard, but the man had a face she wanted to trust.
“Let’s go, ma’am,” said the old man.
Talya climbed in the back seat, a cloud of dust puffing around her as she sat down.
After bouncing at trotting speed along the highway for nearly an hour, they arrived at the hotel safe-and-sound. She paid the driver the promised fare and gave him the extra thousand CFA for his honesty. As she walked up the steps leading to the entrance, a porter came out and offered to carry her luggage.
“Thank you,” Talya said when he picked up her suitcase as if it were a mere shopping bag. When you’re over six feet tall and weight about three-hundred pounds, you can do that sort of thing.
As she entered the air-conditioned lobby, the cool air enveloped her with a balm of freshness, which only served to remind her how tired she was. She walked to the desk, stood by the counter and was rightfully ignored. She was a woman travelling alone in a Muslim country; consequently, she had to assert her presence by waiting her turn stoically and refrain from speaking until spoken to. In so doing, and in due time, she would be noticed as a discreet person to whom respect should be granted without reserve. She waited.
By the front desk, which was an elaborate affair stretching at least fifteen feet from one end to the other, a few men, dressed in the traditional thawbs or djellabas (ankle length close-fitting or loose garments), seemed just to hang-around even at this late hour. Across from the desk, some people were sitting in couches and chairs drinking tea, while others appeared to be involved in agitated palavers. Beyond these mini-salons où l’on cause, there were half-dozen shops and boutiques, a souvenir shop and a travel agency among them. Tucked in a corner, there was a small ‘Business Office’, which appeared to be fully equipped with the latest computers and communication tools. Another two shops, a bookshop and a Salon de Beauté ended the row farther along a hallway, leading somewhere outdoors to the gardens or perhaps the swimming pool.
As expected, and finally, the clerk turned to her and began the registration process. When he asked how long Talya intended to stay, “Will it be for the night or the weekend?” she had no idea, since no one had been at the airport to meet her.
“One night only,” she replied.
“Very well, Madame, and welcome to the Terranga. We wish you a pleasant stay.”
Key in hand she made her way to the elevator and let the porter carry her bags upstairs to the room.
Even then, in darkness, the view of the ocean from the balcony promised to be exquisite at sunrise.
Talya felt good to have made the decision to stay in Dakar for a while. It might have been for the one night only, yet, it was a welcome break before reaching the impending problems in Bamako.
She unpacked a change of clothes, took a shower and slipped into her nightshirt. She was numb. Having left Vancouver so quickly and already being in Africa felt unreal somehow. She lay down, intending to read a few pages of a book she had picked up at the airport before leaving, but she could not concentrate and soon fell asleep.
In the morning, she woke up facing magnificent scenery. The ocean glistening under the morning sun, colours of turquoise and emeralds, was simply altogether peaceful and awesome. Straddling the swells or coursing the rolling waves, there were fishermen precariously standing in their pirogues throwing nets out and dragging-in others laden with the early catches. One could see the schools of fish lacing the teal sea with huge dark patches.
Somehow, the fishers knew where to throw the nets ahead of the next rush.
After a shower and devouring a light breakfast on the terrace, Talya felt very much restored and ready to phone Monsieur Hjamal to see if they could meet before the end of the day. If possible, she wanted to take the evening flight to Bamako. However, this was Saturday and no one answered the office phone.
At his home, a woman answered. She did not speak French or English—only Waloff, the local dialect. Talya had never learned to speak any of the regional languages but she could understand a few words or the meaning of some expressions. In this case, she was told that Monsieur Hjamal was not in (or was it “not in town”?) and she was asked, told grudgingly rather, to ring his cousin. His cousin? What am I supposed to say to his cousin? Nevertheless, Talya took down the number the woman gave her and dialled it as soon as she hung up. Again, a woman answered.
“No, Ahmed not here. Please phone later.”
What is this? Frustration began to settle on her thoughts. Hjamal must have been informed of my arrival, or had he? If he was aware that she was in town, he had no excuse to behave like this. After all, he was the one asking for help, not Talya.
What am I supposed to do now? She needed to leave Dakar. She loved its intrinsic beauty but she could not afford the time to enjoy it. There were a few hours to spare before going back to the airport, so Talya decided to go to the artisans’ market and perhaps purchase a few souvenirs. She was never big on souvenirs. She just liked the atmosphere of the place. It brought back memories, some ugly, some fond.
The crowds, the brouhaha of the narrow lanes, the booths-like cages in the jewellers’ row, even the abattoirs, as horrible as they were, in the middle of the food stalls and the stench of life and death permeated her every pore. Talya was a girl of fourteen then. They were all teenagers of different colours but of one heart, and amid the misery of it all, each afternoon spent at the market had provided a pleasant break from the harshness of her childhood. Together with her schoolmates, they would buy peanuts and cornballs from squatting women in the lanes or go behind the jewellers’ stands, where the old men were melting gold and copper in small crucibles over charcoal cradles. The patience of these people always fascinated Talya. It took hours to tat the gold threads. In the end, filigreed pendants, rings, bracelets, necklaces were on display in modest makeshift cases for everyone to admire and to buy. In those days, European tourists would come in numbers to purchase the jewellers’ pieces at a fraction of the price of what they were in their country. Today, only a few people browse but do not buy.
It was early afternoon when the cab dropped Talya off at her destination. Immediately, a swarm of wretched boys rushed the car, begging for alms. Pennies would satisfy them, but if she gave a cent to one, a hundred more beggars would come out of the recesses of the slums nearby. As painful as it were to see such deprived children around her, imploring for smidgens of life, she had learned not to give anything to anyone.
Between two houses and under a small archway, Talya found the entrance of the market she knew well. She ambled along the meandering aisles and frayed her way through a busload of very tall, and very white, Dutch people. While browsing along the jewellers’ row, her gaze rested on a collection of stones shimmering from one of the display cases in a booth set apart from the others. As she was about to ask him, the young man behind the counter quickly assured her that every stone was genuine. Observing the disbelief that must have been written across Talya’s face, he explained that the stones were imported from Eastern or South Africa. Yet, she was sceptical and thought she would leave the mere boy to his treasures. She would not find out the significance of this little discovery until much later.
She walked on, visited other booths, other jewellers, and other artisans, and stopped at a little stall where a woman sold her a bissap juice, a delicious fruit-leaf tea, and some qatayif crepes filled with cheese and nuts.
Talya was taking pleasure in this walk down the market lanes of her memories, but soon came time for her to go back to the hotel, pick-up her suitcase and make her way to the airport in time for the next flight to Bamako.
She left the old woman perched on a stool in front of her minute bar and waved good-bye. She rushed out of the labyrinth and hailed a kerbside taxi.
Maybe there was a message from Hjamal or Rasheed that could keep her in Dakar a while longer? If truth were told, she was hoping to stay in Senegal somehow, just long enough to appease the premonition of evil that roamed her mind. However, the phone-message light was not blinking as she came in the room, neither man had left a word, and as hard as she tried to find an excuse to hang around, there was none.
When she reached the airport, she discovered the plane would be late arriving from Paris and, of course, it would be late leaving Dakar. The first hour went by easily enough. She ate a few sandwiches from the bar in the airline’s lounge, sat in one of the chairs, read several more pages of her book, and leafed through some of the magazines piled on a table nearby. The second hour was long and boring.
After six hours of uncomfortable sleep on a couch, the loudspeaker calling the passengers to the aircraft “now ready for boarding” awoke Talya rudely.

8
No one was waiting for Talya at Bamako’s airport. No wonder, it was only four o’clock in the morning. Jean-Claude is still in bed for sure!
She went through the same song and dance as she did in Dakar. She picked up her suitcase from the luggage belt, a reliable taxi and on to the hotel. As she pushed through the doors and entered the lobby, a huge hall actually, a foul door hit her. The smell of urine had spread through the place. Observing the letters ‘WC’ painted over a door set into the far wall, she figured the nearby lavatory was in need of immediate attention and thorough cleaning, but she was too tired to ask any explanation from the night clerk.
While he was busy filling out her registration sheet, she looked round the entrance hall. It was barren of furniture, but not of people since it was almost time for early Morning Prayer. Even from inside the hotel she could hear the Imam’s call from the nearby mosque. There were groups of men in thawbs, standing chaplet in hand talking quietly while a couple of boys were polishing their shoes at their feet. These boys were Koran schools’ pupils. Some are orphans while others are boys whose parents cannot afford to feed them. They live with their masters in orphanages where they learn to read the Koran and observe Islamic laws, under the guidance of a ‘Marabout’ or a ‘Mulah’. Unfortunately, these institutions are not subsidized by any organization, so these boys have to fend for themselves; often doing menial jobs to earn their keep, scrounging for food at the market, begging in the streets, or even selling some surahs (chapters) from the Koran to the passers-by. Their masters, on the other hand, receive donations for their deeds in the community. It is a miserable arrangement, one that leads these boys to become insecure and abject or one that seldom engenders respect for one’s elders.
Talya was given a small suite with a balcony overlooking the swimming pool, part of the golf links and the Niger River beyond. Inside from the balcony however, she quickly forgot the sunrise scenery outside. The room reeked of mildew. It was the kind of door that grows from a long period of neglect. The wallpaper was peeling off in corners showing the plastered walls underneath. The veneered furniture was chipped and greasy to the touch. Talya is not a stickler for white glove cleanliness, but a trip to the bathroom told her she should have been. She didn’t bother unpacking, threw herself on the bed and stared at the moisture-ridden ceiling….
After a couple of hours of disturbed sleep—the cooling unit grumbling to a noisy stop at regular intervals—she got up and took a shower, cleaning the recess with her shampoo in the process. Once dressed, Talya ordered breakfast and phoned Jean-Claude. His wife answered.
“Is this Madame Gauthier?” Talya asked.
“Yes it is, Chantal speaking. Oh, you must be Talya. I’m so glad you’ve made it okay. Jean-Claude’s been so worried. We were not able to come to the airport. We thought of calling you this morning but I told Jean-Claude you needed your sleep and to wait a while longer. He had a little accident last night and I’m afraid he’ll have to go back to Brussels….”
Talya didn’t know how to take this sudden onrush of words and the news they conveyed, but she didn’t dare interrupt the flow and she let the woman finish her story.
She must be my kind of woman. Given half a chance, she would never stop talking.
In short, Jean-Claude had fallen down the stairs at home while trying to carry a trunk too heavy for him. He broke his shoulder blade. Sometimes men think of themselves heroes, invincible, unbreakable or some such thing.
When she got Jean-Claude on the line, eventually, he sounded short of breath. “It’s good to hear you’ve made it in one piece.”
“I did, my friend, thank you,” Talya replied. “But I hear you haven’t been so lucky.”
“I guess not. Anyway, let’s not talk about that now. We want to come to your hotel in an hour’s time, if that’s all right with you? I’d like you to meet Chantal before I leave.”
Listening to the faltering voice, Talya was convinced the man should not go anywhere.
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Wouldn’t you prefer for me to come to your place instead?”
“No. That won’t be necessary. You’re tired…” How’s that for ‘the pot calling the kettle black’? “And we’ve got a car and a chauffeur ready to take us anywhere.” Talya heard Chantal in the background argue that her house was a mess.
“Sure, if you insist. I’ll wait for you downstairs,” Talya agreed somewhat reluctantly, still concerned for Jean-Claude, and what must have been a very painful injury.
“We’ll see you then.”
“Yes, of course, but be sure to call me if you change your mind.”
“I’ll be fine, don’t worry.”

At eleven o’clock, Talya went down to meet Jean-Claude and his wife, and although she was expecting it, as the elevator doors opened, the horrible smell, that still lingered in the hall, overwhelmed her. The porter came to meet her as she crossed the so-called lobby toward the hotel doors. His yellow bouffant trousers and burgundy turban plopped askew atop his head, the whole outfit, reminded her of some sort of sultan’s costume. Frankly, the poor man looked ridiculous. His attire didn’t add anything to the courtesy or deference he was supposed to impart to the guests, quite the opposite in fact.
Being very tall, the man bent forward to ask, “Anything I can get you, a taxi maybe?”
“No thanks,” Talya replied, “I’m waiting for some friends. I just wanted to get some air. It stinks in there.”
The sultan quickly wiped off the grin from his friendly face, shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
This isn’t going to be a pleasant stay by any description.
Soon though, Talya saw a white panel-beaten car lumber to a grateful stop at the front door. With great care and difficulty, Jean-Claude climbed out of it. His wife, a broad smile washing across her gentle face, trotted around the car, arms outstretched, and gave Talya a big hug. She returned the embrace feeling a little awkward. Chantal wore a flowery dress, which billowed around her, elegantly enveloping her well-endowed body.
As Jean-Claude took a couple of steps toward her, Talya noticed immediately that blotches of perspiration stained the front of his safari shirt. It was painful just to look at him. He was a tall man. His otherwise tanned face was ashen and wan, drawing attention to the glimmer of fever that shone in his brown eyes. He was obviously braving the onslaught of tremendous pain.
“Hello, Talya.” He extended his left hand for her to shake.
She took it in both of hers. “My God, Jean-Claude, you look dreadful.”
“And, how do you do to you too,” he replied, grimacing a little and taking his hand away. “This is my wife Chantal.” He nodded in her direction. “She’s going to take my place for the next few weeks. I’m sure she’ll be able to assist you while you’re in Bamako.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Chantal, and I’m sure the sooner we get rid of your husband, the sooner we can relax and get to know each other.”
“You haven’t changed. You are as sweet and as charming as ever,” Jean-Claude said as cheerfully as he could.
At these words, the smile on Chantal’s face froze. Obviously, she didn’t quite know how to take Talya or the relationship she had with her husband. They were only reporting acquaintances of some months, but Talya never had the opportunity of meeting Jean-Claude face-to-face before that moment.
The driver was sent away to park the car as they took a few steps to the hotel’s entrance. When the sultan opened the doors, a whiff of the offensive air inside reached their nostrils. Chantal quickly took out a handkerchief from her capacious bag, and placed it in front of her mouth and nose. She didn’t have to say a word. The disgust she felt was painted on her face.
“Don’t tell me they haven’t repaired the plumbing yet?” Jean-Claude cringed in disgust.
“Maybe the plumber is on holiday?” Talya suggested sarcastically.
“Talya,” Chantal said from behind the handkerchief, “I know Jean-Claude didn’t mention it, with everything that’s happened, but I’ve taken the liberty of reserving a room in another hotel for you.” How thoughtful! Anything would be better than this stinking hole. “Would you like to take a drive with us to the Grand Hotel and see if you’d like to move there?”
“Yes, that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day, thank you. That was very nice of you. Are you sure you don’t mind?”
Talya was still concerned for Jean-Claude. Looking at him, it seemed that he could pass out at any moment.
“Not at all, let’s get out of here then,” Jean-Claude said, waving his able hand to attract the sultan’s attention. He murmured a few words in his ear, presumably to recall the chauffeur, and they all trotted through the doors, instantly grateful for breathing clean air again—albeit hot.
The heat, which was bearable in the open air, was now suffocating. The car was not equipped with air-conditioning, and driving for a few minutes was worse than being in a sauna. Jean-Claude, who sat up-front, was visibly hurting. His greyish hair was matted to his skull. Drops of perspiration ran from his temples down to the open-neck shirt.
This can’t go on. “You people need to go home,” Talya said. “Let’s get to this Grand Hotel. We can talk on the phone later.”
She saw relief in Jean-Claude’s eyes in the rear-view mirror, and before his wife had time to speak, he said, “Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“I’m sure. Just go home and get on a flight out of here as soon as you can. Chantal and I will manage just fine.”
In Bamako the heat, the filth and the dust are ever present. The city is the perfect example of human degradation marrying pride and absorbing faith while this piece of inhumanity is plunged into everlasting fatalism. In some areas, there are no sidewalks and no covered sewage. Green water swamps channel most avenues, streets and lanes, dealing a hand of death at every corner. Diseases are on the menu of the most sumptuous repasts or served with the most meagre meals. The reddish dirt covers the buildings and houses lining the streets. Most of them, built during colonial times, are left as they stand with little or no maintenance. Talya was surprised, however, to see new constructions erected amid the decrepitude. Here, the tree-lined avenues seemed to have enjoyed regular garbage removals.
When they arrived at the Grand Hotel, Chantal and Talya rushed indoors to escape the searing outside heat. Once inside, Talya stopped dead in her tracks in amazement. Through the double glass doors, the vast lobby, the white marble floor, the grand staircase, after which the hotel was named, the red carpets, the overstuffed couches, the glass-top tables and the vases of flowers everywhere, gave Talya the impression of stepping into a fairy-tale castle. The difference between outside and inside was so marked that she doubted her senses.
Chantal approached the desk as the receptionist came round the counter to meet them.
“Monsieur Dia is my name,” he said to Talya, “I believe you are Madame Kartz? Madame Gauthier has made reservations for you to stay with us for a few days.”
He had a round, cheerful face, deep dark, inviting eyes and a broad grin uncovering a perfect set of gleaming teeth. He was impeccably dressed. Wearing a royal blue uniform pressed in all the right places, and with a pristine white shirt contrasting his very dark skin, he looked the part—the ideal Front Desk Clerk.
The whole experience was so unexpected that Talya blurted out some answer by way of thanks and asked Monsieur Dia to arrange for a car to go to the other hotel and fetch her luggage. Talya explained that Madame Gauthier had to leave immediately—which she did.
He went back behind the counter, where he gave some instructions to his waiting staff. These were carried out without fuss or delays and within a few minutes, she was climbing the stairs to her new domicile. Talya was relieved.
The suite was spacious, decorated with simplicity. The discreet white paint covering the concrete walls and the modest furnishing, gave a sense of freshness and cleanliness to the place. Divided in two areas separated by an archway, the bedroom contained a large redwood bed, covered with a blue and white patterned bedspread, a television on a stand in one corner, and a wardrobe along the outside of the bathroom wall. Presumably, and since there was no mosquito netting over the bed, the air-conditioning unit, purring gently from the wall beside the French doors, was assigned to chase the unwanted insects away. Through the archway and in the loggia near the windows, there was a desk against one wall, a round table and a couple of chairs.
At once, Talya went to check the mini-bar under the desk. It was empty but for a couple of large bottles of mineral water, which would be ample to quench her thirst until the next day.
She opened the doors giving way onto the small balcony. The view was limited to the street below, where traffic went by at a frightful rate.
Watching the scene for a while, Talya’s thoughts wandered through a maze of recollections. She saw her father come home in his Renault, parking the car in the carport underneath their apartment in Conakry. She saw him wave at her … she wanted to cry. It was all so long ago, but the memories came flooding back and re-opened the wounds of her horrible, painful youth.
Closing the door behind her to keep the heat and the unwanted thoughts away, she decided to unpack her suitcase that the porter had brought up within a half-an-hour of her arrival. She hung her clothes carefully in the old-style wardrobe. She knew the humidity, such as it was, would take care of some of the much-needed ironing. She took another shower in the white tiled recess of the huge bathroom—no mildew anywhere—and got dressed in a peach T-shirt and cotton trousers, both wrinkled from being crammed in her bag for three days.
After surveying her new home with satisfaction, Talya went down to the restaurant. Like the rest of the hotel evidently, it was fresh and clean. The waiters were dressed in blue and black suits, looking sharp, attentive to the patrons, and smiling. Today being Sunday, and generally a day of rest for the hostelries catering to European travellers throughout West Africa, a cold buffet was spread over a large carver’s board amid the tables. She wanted to eat there, and so she did.
Since cold cuts never whetted her appetite, for Talya often wondered how long the meat had been exposed to bacteria, she feasted on a well-cooked tenderloin, French-fries and salad. She looked at the dessert tray, but her stomach refused the proposal of another bite.
As she was climbing the grand staircase, Talya was hit by a ‘coup de barre’—an irresistible urge to sleep—and as soon as she reached her room, closed the door and threw the key on the night table, she lay down on the bed and for several hours she slumbered in the arms of Orpheus.
Talya awoke with a start at the sound of voices in the hallway telling someone it was “time for a drink.” She didn’t know where she was when she first opened her eyes. It seemed that her brain had forgotten to keep pace with her senses. Suddenly however, it was instant recall. She remembered she was in Bamako. She had to call Jean-Claude. She had to solve a problem. She got up with a jerk, grabbed the telephone and got the geologist on the line immediately.
“How are you, my friend?”
“Doing nicely, all things considered, thanks. How’s the Grand?” His voice was steadier.
“It’s fabulous. I can’t believe it, but tell me, when are you leaving?”
“Not before Tuesday, I’m afraid. I have a reservation on the night flight to Paris and then on to Brussels.”
“That’s good. There wasn’t anything earlier I guess?”
“No. They couldn’t give me a first class seat in any other flights. So I’m going to wait for a couple of days.”
There are only two flights a week out of Bamako connecting to international flights from Dakar to Europe, and each of these are usually packed to the rim. No wonder Jean-Claude couldn’t get a first-class seat.
“Are you going to be okay to wait for that long? Did you see a doctor? What about medication—do you have enough? Are you taking any pain killers?” What else should I’ve asked?
“Don’t worry, Talya,” he chuckled. “Chantal is taking good care of me. I think she must have a whole pharmacy hidden somewhere in the house. She’s been feeding me pills like they’re going out of style. I think I’ll be able to wait for Tuesday without too much trouble.”
There was definitely a smile in this man’s voice. Talya was relieved to hear he was in such good spirits. He is probably doped to the hilt, and isn’t feeling much of anything.
They talked at some length about Monsieur Savoi and his suspicious dealings with the Mines Department and the rumours, which were perhaps already reaching the stock exchange in Canada or New York. After a few more comments and many recommendations on his part, Jean-Claude gave Talya a list of appointments he made with various members of government and people in the industry. She had a full schedule, enough to keep her busy for at least a week. How long was she going to stay in Mali? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she wanted to start the investigation as soon as possible to be done even sooner. Little did she know then how much of a wishful thinking that turned out to be.
The rest of the evening was uneventful. Talya read for a while, tried to contact Aziz, to no avail. Their parting had been short and courteous but she knew Aziz had had a hard time dealing with her departure. They had gone out for drinks and a light supper the evening before Talya left, and when he kissed her goodnight, she knew their relationship had taken a downward plunge. Talya was sad for it, but not for the fact that she had accepted the assignment and even provoked the circumstances that had brought her back to Africa.
She wasn’t hungry, and after such a copious lunch, she was sure that a few crackers, nuts and a cold drink would keep her until morning. Munching away, she wrote a fax to James, alerting him of Jean-Claude’s inopportune return to Belgium, which she brought down to the night clerk to send immediately. Back in her room, she wrote a few more lines in her travel journal, sat in bed, and watched CNN for a few minutes while her mind went back to Dakar. What happened? Why was I stood up? She did not understand any of this. Rasheed was so insistent on my having another meeting with Ahmed Hjamal, why then didn’t they show up, or even left a message? She made a note to talk to James about it at the first opportunity, although Talya asked him in her fax if they had called…. Sleep must have drowned her thoughts because she woke up in the middle of the night at the buzzing sound of the TV. She turned it off and went back to dreamland.
9
On Monday morning, Jean-Claude had scheduled an appointment with Monsieur Kane, the same Monsieur Kane who had mentioned to him that there were some ‘irregularities’ with their permit applications. In fact, Talya was still curious as to what he meant by irregularities, and she was looking forward to meeting the man and his irregularities.
After breakfast, she found Chantal in the lobby ready to start what promised to be a long day for both of them.
Chantal was grinning when she saw Talya come out of the restaurant. “Hello, Talya. How are you?”
“I’m fine, and you? And how’s our patient?”
“I’m okay I guess, but Jean-Claude isn’t. I had to call the doctor last night and get him to bring some sedatives so he could sleep.”
“Are you sure you want to come with me this morning? I could go on my own, you know.”
“Absolutely not, I’m so curious about this Monsieur Kane….” Chantal laughed and patted Talya’s arm. “Anyway Jean-Claude is sleeping. He’ll keep until I get back.” She was saying this as if the poor man was a leftover roast that could keep in the oven for a couple of hours. She smiled.
“Well, then let’s go,” Talya said.
They walked to the parking lot where the same chauffeur, a scrawny little fellow with a very affable disposition, and the same car as yesterday’s were waiting for them. What if Monsieur Kane sees us arriving in this wreck?
The Mines Department was located in an industrial suburb of Bamako. It was a four-storey apartment house, which had been converted into offices, library, map room and a guard’s house on the ground floor. Years ago, the sandstone building had been painted white; however, as with most structures in the city, a heavy coat of red dust covered every part of the outside stairwells, landings and corners where it could gather.
There were no elevators, so Chantal and Talya took the stairs up to the fourth floor to find Monsieur Kane’s office. As Chantal, panting a little from the climb, opened the louvered door, three white men in suits, carrying briefcases, came out. They looked decidedly put out about something.
“There goes the competition,” Talya whispered in Chantal’s ear. She smiled.
Monsieur Kane’s secretary was a mature woman. She had a serene face and a lovely motherly smile. Her expensive necklace and bracelets told Talya that she was a lady of some means, which is not very common among working Muslin women—unless she was a widow.
Taking a couple of steps inside this tiny office, Talya pulled a business card out of her purse and handed it to the woman.
“Ah yes, Madame Kartz,” the woman said, reading her name on the card, “and Madame Gauthier, I presume? Good morning. Your husband phoned last week, I remember. I’m Madame Sylvia. We were expecting you.”
“Good morning,” Chantal and Talya replied in unison.
“Please, sit down,” Madame Sylvia said, indicating a sofa beside her workstation. “Monsieur Kane won’t be long.” They did as bidden, and Madame Sylvia returned to her typing.
The room was small and triangular, a very awkward shape for an office. Facing Madame Sylvia, and at one end of the longer wall, a second door opened at an angle to where Chantal and Talya sat, probably giving access to Monsieur Kane’s private office. The open-windows behind the couch awarded them with the street noise but with none of the freshness of the outside. The air was dusty and smelly.
While Talya pondered this department’s use of mining fees and taxes, Monsieur Kane came out of his office in a huff. He looked annoyed. He shot a glance at the two women then turned toward Madame Sylvia, saying, “I don’t want to be disturbed for the next hour.” He then focused on his two guests once again. “Come in, ladies, come in.”
Monsieur Kane was the man behind the Minister, the man who made all the decisions. He was the person who made all the recommendations and the Minister heeded his every word.
He was short, stocky but not fat. His body was muscle bound. His shiny black face was pleated like that of a bulldog, and among the creases, piercing black eyes, alert and watchful, observed the two women as they made their way into his office. This man would be dangerous if crossed.
Once the polite but frosty introductions were over, they sat down in the black leather-covered chairs that furnished part of this elongated room. Their host then launched into what turned out to be a tirade of recriminations.
He began by asking: “Madame Kartz, do you have a legal advisor, a lawyer here in Bamako to look after your interests?” Talya looked at him, taken aback by this unexpected request.
“No, I haven’t retained a lawyer,” she replied matter-of-factly, “nor did I think I needed one. I’m only here to review what’s been done with the applications made by our company in regards to properties we would like to explore.”
“Madame Kartz. We have received permit applications, incomplete I might add, for twelve properties, from a Monsieur Savoi.” He peered into Talya’s eyes in search of a reaction. He got none and went on, shaking his head, “This Monsieur Savoi claims to be an associate of yours, to be acting on your orders, but, he couldn’t show us a power-of-attorney, which would confirm this. He showed us an agreement that was signed by your president, naming him as your agent, which is quite different to having a power-of-attorney authorizing him to sign any application he would submit on behalf of your company. However, what concerns this ministry most of all is the fact that your Monsieur Savoi has been blatantly bribing officers of this department to file these applications.”
The word bribing hit Talya between the eyes, but she didn’t flinch and let him go on.
“Monsieur Savoi says that he was asked by your president to get these twelve permits to explore all of the properties at the same time.”
Sitting in the black chair facing them, legs apart, elbows on his knees, Monsieur Kane’s posture looked more like that of an angry dog, ready to growl at the slightest provocation, than that of a Department Director. Talya and Chantal continued to listen.
“The Government of Mali is not in the habit of being bribed in the distribution of a dozen permits to anyone, not even to a company such as Carmine. Therefore, what we expect from you is this: first, we want an explanation for Monsieur Savoi’s actions. Second, we demand that you retrieve all of the applications, which were filed thus far. And last, if you wish to do business in our country in the future, we will need formal representation from your company to be made to our government in order for us to process any application you would care to introduce to this office.”
In truth, Talya had been expecting some sort of reproof, but the mention of bribing had been icing on the cake. She had to get legal advice. The bulldog was right.
Monsieur Kane got up, and while accepting Talya’s second-hand confounded apologies, he said, “I would like to see Carmine working in Mali, Madame Kartz, but at this point, I’m afraid you may have to start from scratch.”
$500,000 later and I have to start from scratch? One way or another Savoi is going to pay for this.
After a few words of parting, Chantal and Talya left. She had taken some notes during the meeting and had listened to Monsieur Kane’s pointed comments without a word, but as they were walking down the stairs toward the car park, Chantal found her voice again.
“No wonder it felt so cold in that office. He really took the gloves off didn’t he?” she said from over her shoulder.
“He sure did. Mind you he may have had good reasons,” Talya replied dryly.
“What are you going to do now?”
“Think about it, Chantal. That’s what I’m going to do ... think about it.”
As they drove to the hotel, Talya’s thoughts went back to Monsieur Kane’s comments and a picture of Savoi’s scheme began to take shape in her mind’s eye. Representing Carmine, he must have approached twelve landowners (maybe more) telling them that Carmine would come on their land, mine their property and produce gold. In exchange for which, these proprietors were promised a share of the profits, possibly an advance on royalties or any other item that would have them sign on the dotted line. However, Talya wasn’t unduly worried about these promises; what really worried her was that the landowners must have paid Savoi a finders’ fee for getting a mining company of Carmine’s standing to consider mining their land. Each of these fees would have to be reimbursed.
Then, with twelve contracts in hand, giving Savoi (and Carmine) access to the properties, Monsieur Savoi filed the first series of permit applications for a small sum handed under the table to twelve different government employees. How he could conceivably do this, and hope to get away with it, was beyond Talya. The fact remained that they had yet twelve, probably by now, very angry landowners on their hands, who had been promised the moon and were going to get zilch for their troubles, and a Minister’s advisor ready to throw the book at them. Moreover, Carmine was now accused of attempting to corrupt the system, and it followed that the company was thought to be speculating on the premise of being awarded twelve permits, when in fact, none were to be granted for now.
When they were back at the Grand, and found a comfortable seat on the terrace near the pool, Talya asked Chantal to phone Savoi’s office to see if anyone had seen him in the last few days. She returned shortly afterwards with a ‘no’ answer written across her face.
“No one has seen him for days, so what do you want to do now?”
“I’ve got to try to find Savoi ... but first I need to find a lawyer that will help me straighten out the mess with the landowners …” Talya went on and drew the ‘picture’ for Chantal.
When she finished with her little explanation, Chantal was staring at her. “You mean to tell me that we are going to have these people coming down demanding a reimbursement of the finders’ fee?” She had a worried look on her face.
“Yes, and you can expect them to be on their way right now, if they have been alerted of my arrival in town.”
“Good Gracious! How are we going to handle these people? And with Jean-Claude on his way to Belgium ... how can we manage?”
A worrisome prospect indeed.
They sat in silence for a minute then Chantal put her mouth in motion again. “Which of these properties does Carmine want anyway? I seem to recall Jean-Claude saying that you were interested in the Kankoon land, is that still the case?”
“Absolutely. That’s the only piece of property Carmine has ever been interested in exploring. Yet, even if we obtain an exploration permit, it means years of work, literally, before we will see the first ounce of gold coming out of the smelter.”
“I see,” Chantal said, looking down at the floor beneath her feet, realizing now the enormity of the problem, perhaps for the first time. “What if you carried on as if nothing happened, and let Savoi handle the landowners?” She was obviously trying to find a way to avoid having to face the proprietors.
“I don’t think so.” Talya shook her head. “Because don’t forget, Carmine’s name is on all of the documentation and quite possibly on all of the contracts that Savoi signed with these people. Ultimately we are responsible for making empty promises, and in turn, we will have to reimburse each and every one of these people.”
While Chantal seemed lost in thought, Talya caught the waiter’s eye and ordered a couple of juices. She then went on, “The first thing I’m going to do is to call James and tell him what’s happening and get him to send me a power-of-attorney so that I’ll have some authority to do something around here.”
Still pensive, absentmindedly almost, Chantal said, “I guess a lawyer could take the reins and see if he could negotiate some sort of settlement with these proprietors.”
“That will be his first task and afterwards—when things settle down—I can re-apply for the Kankoon concession.”
“Yes, that’s sounds like a plan.” Chantal sounded unconvinced. “I’ll get Jean-Claude to assemble all of the documentation he had prepared to file the Kankoon application, before he leaves. You may need it.”
“Thanks. The problem is where do I find a lawyer in this town?”
“I could try phoning a few people…”
Talya nodded. “Yes, that would help, but not right now. I need to talk to James first.” She paused, pondering. “I don’t know why, but Savoi’s absence is beginning to worry me. We’ve sent him a fax nearly a week ago now. He should have made a point of being in his office, at least.”
“And Jean-Claude tried to call him, when you told him you were coming, and he wasn’t there then.”
“Yes, I know he told me he hadn’t seen him. Anyway, no use dwelling on that now, I’ll just call James and see what he says. Do you want to come back later? Or better, I’ll call you to tell you what James suggests, Okay?”
Chantal agreed and went home reluctantly. Talya could see she would have rather stayed and perhaps do some more picture drawing with her.
Talya drank the rest of her orange juice, went to her room and called James at the office to let him know where they stood. She didn’t reach him; he was out at some meeting or other.
10
“Monsieur Savoi?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“No need for introduction. I am calling you in regards to your investments in our company. We have never met, but Monsieur Hjamal has spoken highly of your endeavours in Africa.”
“Has he now?” Savoi was flattered.
“Yes…, and I’m sure you wouldn’t want to see these investments being flushed down the drain, would you?”
“What’s this? What are you talking about?”
“Never mind. Let’s just say that the time has arrived for you to avoid any scrutiny from Madame Kartz. So we suggest that you make your way down to Dakar as soon as possible.”
“I am sorry to disappoint you Monsieur—whatever your name is—although I don’t want to precipitate my meeting with the Kartz woman at the moment, I think I am better placed to observe her manoeuvres from here.”
“You’re sadly mistaken if you think that you could stay in Bamako and avoid investigation.”
“Investigation? What do you mean? I am not under investigation.”
“Yes, Monsieur Savoi, you will be under investigation soon enough—as soon as the Malian government learned of your dealings with the landowners.”
“How do you know all this? Who are you?”
“Just someone who’s well informed and I strongly suggest you get out of Bamako as soon as you can.”
“But I can’t ... I’ve got important business here—”
“More important than getting away from the authorities or do you relish the thought of being imprisoned for fraud? I hear the prisons in Mali are not the healthiest—”
“All right, all right. I’ll be on the next flight out.”
11
An hour or so later, the hotel receptionist was on the line asking if Talya wanted to see someone named Rheza McLean from Monsieur Savoi’s office. “The lady is waiting for you at the bar.”
“Very well,” Talya replied, “I’ll come down in a few minutes.” Someone has broken away from the pack or the beast is sending a messenger to take the beating.
The so-called ‘bar’ could have been better described as a lounge or salon. It was a large room where two rows of brown colonnade punctuated the flagstone floor. The white stucco walls provided some coolness to the otherwise sultry atmosphere. To the right of the doors, a bar stretched halfway across the room. Farther in, there were groupings of comfortable chairs and sofas, hidden under piles of rose and brown cushions, and surrounding six-legged tables topped with finely etched brass trays. On each table, the soft light, flickering from the candles encased in crystal flues, gave a sense of peaceful restfulness to the entire place.
With carpets, engraved copper plates and rugged ornaments hanging on the walls, some of which were miniature reproduction of the doors of Djenné, this lounge somehow reminded Talya of the inside of a sheikh’s tent.
Madame Rheza McLean was sitting upright on one of the chairs. Among all of the people, who were enjoying some late afternoon refreshments, Talya couldn’t have missed her. Only a glance revealed the shell of elegance, the veil of serenity enveloping the lady’s presence. Her face seemed to be moulded in clay. With features so perfectly defined, Talya wondered if she could ever move a muscle without shattering the mask. Her hair was braided in a multitude of tiny tresses meticulously tied at the back with a bow, which recalled the blues of her satin ‘bou-bou’ gown—the woman’s elaborately embroidered version of the man’s djellaba—shimmering and swishing to the touch. As she came closer, Rheza stood up, and Talya then realized how beautiful this statuesque woman really was. She was radiant. She took Talya’s extended hand and gave her a firm, decisive handshake. I would need never to underestimate her.
“Madame Kartz, I presume?” It sounded like “Doctor Livingston, I presume?”
“Yes, I am,” she replied, feeling small and dowdy, much as a schoolteacher when interviewed for a tutor’s position by a wealthy parent.
“Please sit down,” Talya said, taking a seat across from her visitor. “Rheza, is it?”
“Yes,” she replied stiffly, “my name is Madame Rheza McLean.”
Ouch! A little pretentious to boot, aren’t we?
She began to tell an incoherent story, which took about three long minutes to end. When she stopped, Talya couldn’t remember one word she said. She was fascinated by Rheza’s manners, her features, her long fingered, well-manicured hands, and the only resonance from her ramblings that reached Talya’s ears, was the bafflement in her voice.
“All right, Rheza, Madame McLean, I’ve heard what you’ve said, but I really don’t understand why you’re here. I arrived yesterday, expecting to see Monsieur Savoi if not this morning at least this afternoon, but I was told he hasn’t been seen for the past several days. I need to talk to him as soon as possible.” Rheza looked at Talya in dismay, shifted uneasily in her chair, nervously gripping the clasp of her purse that had remained in her lap since she sat down.
Not getting the reaction she expected, Talya went on. “If you could tell me where he is, I could see what can be done about the applications he has filed with the Mines Department. This is the reason I came, and it seems Monsieur Savoi has taken many liberties with my company’s funds. We can’t afford to have an agent spend money and not account for that spending.” That little speech had been intended for the ears of Monsieur Savoi, but since Rheza, pardon me, Madame McLean, came to hear it instead, Talya gave it to her.
Rheza began to say something but thought better of it.
Talya waited.
After a few moments, she decided to respond. “You don’t understand,” Rheza said, lowering her eyes, “I have worked for my uncle for three years. I’m a director of his company but I haven’t been paid since January of this year. I came to see you to ask if I could continue working on acquiring the concessions Carmine wants, and if I could hope to be paid for doing so.”
At this revelation, Talya was about to utter some profanity or other. But, I prefer not to swear in public. A moment later, she came out of her stunned silence. “Are you saying what I think? Monsieur Savoi is your uncle? And, you’ve worked on Carmine’s project for several months without being paid?” Sorry, I am not biting. “Pardon me for saying so, but somehow I find that hard to believe.”
Fixing her gaze on the floor in front of her feet, “But it’s true,” Rheza replied quietly.
“As I said, this is quite incredible. Yet, in view of the fact that your uncle may have abused Carmine’s trust, I am not surprised to hear that he could have taken advantage of his own niece. Nevertheless, you can’t expect Carmine to pay twice for work, which has shown no results thus far, if not negative ones.”
Rheza lifted her head a pleading look in her eyes. Talya felt she needed to keep the conversation going. She invited Madame McLean to have a drink with her and to tell her a little more about herself and her family. She did both.
Rheza McLean was a widow. She had gone to Paris and New York, following her husband of many years on his appointments overseas. In the meantime, she had taken courses in administration, computing and word-processing. She became a qualified bilingual secretary and returned to Mali when her husband passed away. She had two children in their teens.
When Rheza ended her somewhat convoluted recital, Talya said, “All right then. Would you be prepared to work for awhile to correct some of the errors your uncle has made, and concentrate on completing just one of our permit applications?”
Rheza raised her eyes from her glass, from which she had taken only a few sips, and looked at Talya with a thin smile of victory coming across her lips.
Not so fast, Madame McLean, here comes the rest, “…But before you answer, let me warn you that if you come to work for me I’ll have to find out where the money went.” Talya let that sink in for a moment and drank some juice. “Of course, if the funds are recovered, or if you could provide me with a full accounting of your spending, I mean, your uncle’s spending, you will be fully compensated for your efforts.”
“Do you mean I would have to spy on my uncle?” Rheza was obviously amazed by Talya’s offer.
“I don’t think I would call it spying really,” Talya said nonchalantly, “You’ve told me you’re a director of his company. As such you should be able to find an account of the money you received from the landowners and from Carmine, which went into the business, and how it was spent.”
Rheza looked stunned. Yet, she wasn’t stupid, she had seen through Talya’s obvious blackmail.
“In any case, you don’t have to give me your answer today. Maybe you could ring me tomorrow, and let me know what you’ve decided.”
At these words, Rheza McLean got to her feet, clearly intending to evade any further scrutiny.
“I’m very sorry for everything that’s happening,” Talya said, getting up, “but you must understand Carmine could not let things go on the way they were.”
“Yes, I know, but you, you must see the problem I’m facing?” She was on the verge of tears.
Talya didn’t want to detain her any longer. “Do call me tomorrow, and we could talk some more.” She followed her half way to the door. “In the meantime, if you hear from your uncle, let me know.”
“I will. Thank you, Madame Kartz.” And without another word, Rheza McLean walked out.
Talya looked after her, returned to her seat, sat down and emptied her glass. Rheza had left her nonplussed.
She went back to her room disconcerted. She sat in front of the television not seeing any of the images. She thought about this woman—Rheza McLean. A woman endowed with the beauty of a mythological goddess, outwardly wounded in her principles. Her sense of belonging to the family circle had been menaced, perhaps shattered. How was she going to react? The job-offer Talya made was conditional upon providing her with one answer in particular; how did her uncle (or she) spend Carmine’s money? The woman’s obvious greed overshadowed Rheza’s apparent resentment of her uncle’s comportment toward her. In a way, she felt sorry for Rheza McLean. Yet, there was something about the lady that didn’t sit right with Talya; she was lying! The gall of her….
12
The following morning the phone rang, fiercely disturbing the quietness of the room. Talya had just awoken from a fitful sleep. Nightmares had given way to a semblance of peace in the first hours of dawn. She sat up in bed and put the receiver to her ear.
“Hello! Madame Kartz?” the operator inquired.
“Yes. What is it?” She tried to focus her mind away from nightmares to reality.
“A call for you—”
She glanced at the bedside clock. Don’t people sleep around here? “All right, put it through.”
“Madame Kartz, this is Rheza McLean. Are you free this morning to meet with a friend of mine?”
“Yes, of course. But … what is this about…?”
Rheza didn’t let her finish, “I’ll meet you at ten o’clock in the hotel lobby,” and hung up.
Talya looked at the receiver still in her hand. Rheza, what are you up to?
She got up and walked into the bathroom. She was in a daze.
Where are we likely to go? Who is this friend Rheza mentioned?
The more Talya thought about it, the more perplexing the scenario became. She decided to ring Chantal. She hoped she knew Rheza.
Talya definitely had misgivings about Madame McLean.
“Hello, Chantal? Sorry to bother you but…”
“Good morning, Talya … and you don’t bother me, what can I do? By the way, I’ve got the documentation all ready for you. Shall I bring it over?”
“Oh, thank you. That was quick. But I won’t need it for a couple of days I’m afraid. I’ll send someone to pick it up if you want?”
“No, no, that won’t be necessary, I’ll bring it down the next time I come to the hotel.”
“That’ll be fine, thanks. But that’s not what I’m calling about. I had a meeting with Rheza McLean last night…”
“You did?”
“Do you know her?”
“Well, yes, I know of her. She’s Monsieur Savoi’s right hand, as far as I know. So what’s happening? Did she tell you where he is?”
“No, she didn’t. She asked me for a job.”
“What? Doesn’t that beat all! The nerve of the woman, I can’t believe it.”
“Oh believe it, and to top it off she’s phone me this morning to go with her to meet some friend of hers. Do you think I should go along?”
“Not without me you don’t! I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” She, too, hung up in Talya’s ear.
At ten o’clock, after Talya dropped the Kankoon documentation that Chantal had brought with her, in her room, the two women were sitting on one of the sofas in a corner of the lobby.
“By the way,” Chantal said, “I talked to Jean-Claude about the landowners.”
“Oh yes, and what does he think? Are we going to have them knocking down our doors?” Talya was curious to hear Jean-Claude’s thoughts on the subject. He must have had some inkling about the deal Savoi had possibly made with them, since he knew there had been twelve permits under application.
“He said that they wouldn’t travel to Bamako unless they were told something was amiss with Savoi. He also said that if you retained a lawyer he would give me a list of the proprietors so that he could get in contact with them and see what kind of settlement could be reached.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea, and I think that it would also help if someone went to visit these people and see what kind of reimbursement they would expect.”
“What do you mean? Wouldn’t they want to see their money back?”
“Not necessarily. I would bet some of them would go for payment in kind rather than cash. These people are often in need of medical attention or some form of support, more than they are of cash.”
“You mean something like offering them a trip to the hospital for a check-up or drilling a new water-well closer to their house?” Chantal readjusted the red belt that accented the blue skirt and striped shirt she wore that morning. Always looking fresh and wholesome.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. When I travelled with my father, although that was a long time ago, the people we met, often needed glasses to read; they wanted to read the Koran and couldn’t. They would have given their right hand to be able to read. Some others needed malaria pills or even some seeds to plant the next crop....”
“Well, in a way, that’s a relief, but who do you suggest we send on this little errand? I don’t think a lawyer, not the ones I’ve met anyway, would go traipsing across the Sahel in order to settle a claim, do you?”
Talya had to smile at Chantal’s suggestion. No, I couldn’t see any lawyer doing that.
“I don’t know, Chantal. Since Jean-Claude is out of action for a while, James will have to address that problem.”
“That reminds me, did you get in touch with him?”
“No, not yet. He was out of the office when I tried. I’ll send him a report later today anyway.”
“Oh, I wish Jean-Claude hadn’t been so stupid with that old trunk.” Chantal lowered her eyes ruefully. “You know, I just asked him to drag it down the stairs…” and she went on to explain (in detail) how Jean-Claude got hurt.
Talya listened politely but her thoughts turned once again to their problem, to Rheza McLean. In fact, she was to become a serious problem.
A few minutes later, when the double doors opened and Rheza came in, the effect was startling. Her apparel was a far cry from the business suit Talya was expecting. She wore a long dress tightly moulding her shapely body. The black and white pattern of the silk fabric enhanced her figure even more so. She had a black organza scarf loosely wrapped around her head and shoulders. Talya couldn’t get over the transformation. The gown was slit at the sides, which discreetly showed her long legs at each step she took while the black high-heel shoes clicked on the tile floor rhythmically. Her make-up was flawless—a bit of blush, some mascara and a touch of lipstick to define her exquisite facial features. She looked like a woman on a call from an escort agency.
Where is the ‘lady’ I met last night in the lounge?
“I’m sorry to have kept you waiting, ladies, but the traffic in town was horrible,” Madame McLean said with outward aloofness, a cloud of flowery perfume enveloping the two women as she came closer.
Still staring at her, Chantal and Talya finally stood up and blurted out some welcoming comments, to which Talya added, “Rheza, before we leave, may I ask you where we’re going? And who’s this friend of yours we’re going to see?”
“I rather not talk about it right here,” Rheza said, abruptly turning on her heels and crossing the lobby. “Let’s go to the car and I’ll explain.”
They were already reaching the doors and walking out before Talya could stop her. Rheza had the knack of taking over a situation. She made Talya feel awkward.
This woman is going to draw rings around you and before you know it, she’ll have you on a leash doing tricks.
Rheza walked ahead of them to the parking lot, pointing out her car.
A Mercedes? Of all the nerve! So that’s where Carmine’s money has gone—into a Mercedes no less!
Talya was astonished and speechless. Chantal stopped beside her agape. She too had no words to express her amazement. Talya caught up with Rheza and when she had recovered her faculty of speech, but none of her composure, she barked at her, “Did you buy this car here?”
“No,” Rheza replied with a derisive smile. “This is my uncle’s car.”
“You mean Monsieur Savoi?”
“Yes.”
Talya could not believe her ears.
Chantal was staring at this gorgeous vehicle. It looked as if it came straight out of the show room—lustrous nacre, chromed trimmings with black leather interior.
“How is it that you drive his car and you can’t tell me where he is?” Talya was furious.
Rheza turned around to face her. Her voice was cold, almost menacing. “I don’t know where my uncle is. I told you that yesterday. He’s left his car behind, and I’m using it, if that’s alright with you?”
“Of course, it’s alright with me. It has to be, hasn’t it?”
Talya couldn’t very well force her to hand over the keys right there and then, now could she? She went on barking instead, “Will you at least have the courtesy to tell me where we’re going?”
“I’m not intending to kidnap you, if that’s what you’re afraid of. We do not use such means of persuasion in this country.”
Somehow, Talya doubted the truthfulness of that statement. She saw Chantal frown. Obviously, she was also in doubt as to the veracity of that assertion.
Seizing Rheza’s wrist before she had time to turn away from her, Talya glared at Rheza, and with all of the restraint she could muster, she uttered, “You’re a remarkable woman. You seemed to be very much in control of your every move, but as a rule, I don’t like to be kept in the dark about anything. Is that clear?”
“Perfectly,” Rheza replied, her features set in resentment.
Talya released her wrist and stood there, fuming. Rheza still wouldn’t tell her where they were going. Instead, she opened the car door, and once she settled behind the wheel, she slammed it shut.
Thank goodness, my fingers weren’t in the way.
Coming out of her stunned gazing, Chantal walked around to the other side of the car, and they both climbed into the back seat. All the while Chantal hadn’t said anything, but her face showed plenty. Talya had noticed this about her before; she was the observer. She would tell her later how she felt—when they were alone.
As they closed the car doors, Chantal turned to Talya and said, “If Madame McLean is finally ready to tell us who we’re going to see, maybe I know the person.”
Talya saw Rheza’s clenched jaw in the rear-view mirror. The woman looked back at her and hesitated. Then, she turned around to face them. “I don’t want to start working with you on the wrong footing. You’ve got to understand something, Madame Kartz, my uncle unfortunately has done wrong by more people than you realize. I’ve discovered this last night when I rang one of his associates in New York. The same as you want an explanation for the disappearance of your money; others in town have lost their assets at the hands of my uncle, and they may want to talk to me before I’ve had a chance to clear this up with him. This is one of the reasons I’m taking you to see Monsieur Fade. He may be able to help us.
“Madame Gauthier, you must know him?” Rheza turned her back to Talya and Chantal once again, and put the key in the ignition.
Talya looked at her companion expectantly; Chantal’s eyes sparkled with amusement.
“Oh! I’ve heard of him, yes,” Chantal replied, still smiling. “He’s the Director of the Ministry for Sports and Entertainment. Jean-Claude tells me he’s also a Counsellor to the Prime Minister. Apparently, he seems to know more about soccer than he does about politics.”
“What is this?” Talya felt ripples of anger climb up her spine again. She grabbed the back of the seat in front of her, and pulling herself inches from Rheza’s ear, she sneered, “Please tell me we’re not going to see a soccer fan to resolve our problem?”
Rheza didn’t reply. She switched on the ignition and reversed the car out of the parking stall. Talya knew she wasn’t going to get a straight answer for the time being. She fell back in her seat and looked out at the traffic, the city bustle, without seeing anything. Her mind was abuzz with frustration. Chantal extended her hand and tapped on her arm in a manner as to soothe a petulant child.
A quarter of an hour later, they were at the gate of the ‘Primature’ (the Prime Minister’s Department). Rheza had a chat with the guard, and they proceeded into the courtyard at the centre of an assemblage of low buildings; a whitewashed one-storey affair that looked more like servants’ quarters than offices. They parked the car in front of one of the houses and got out to be instantly assaulted by searing heat. Monsieur Fade’s name was in evidence on a nameplate stuck on the door.
Rheza knocked. They waited.
Every second seemed like minutes. Chantal was protecting her head from the sun with a notebook. Finally, a man flung the door open. He stood on the threshold, welcoming the three women with a broad smile.
“Rheza! How nice to see you…” He embraced the woman. “Please come in, come in. You must be Madame Gauthier,” he said, addressing Chantal. “And you, of course, you’re Madame Kartz.”
They shook hands and exchanged business cards. He had his at the ready when they entered the room. Judging by its smooth features, his face suggested he might have been in his mid-forties, perhaps older, while his black eyes evoked confidence and inspired trust. His tall frame allowed for a certain suppleness of movement, noticeable as he strode toward the massive wooden desk to the right of the room. The black and white tiled floor was shining from all the scrubbing it probably withstood over the years. The two bookcases along the far wall were heavy under the weight of rows of legal volumes. Talya had expected to see soccer trophies adorning every shelf. There was none. Nothing pertaining to any form of sports was evident in this room. The décor was one she would have associated with a solicitor’s office.
“Please sit down, ladies,” Monsieur Fade said, indicating the three Queen Anne chairs facing the desk, while he went round it, sat down, crossed his legs and reclined in the seat, seemingly quite relaxed.
He came straight to the point. “Madame Kartz, Rheza tells me you have some trouble with one of our countrymen?”
Although she was in no mood to give the man any sort of tactful reply, Talya decided to respond with some caution. “I don’t know who you are, sir, or what is your interest in this affair, and before explaining what brought me to Mali, I’d like to obtain some clarification as to why we’re here, in your office? Where do you fit in all of this? And why is it that I should divulge anything to you?”
He joined the fingers of both hands in front of him and smiled. His detachment was irritating.
“Good question, Madame Kartz. And one of the reasons for you being here is that Madame McLean is my niece.”
Talya’s mouth fell open at hearing this startling bit of information. She felt Rheza’s gaze resting on her, watching. She knew Rheza wouldn’t allow herself to speak in the presence of a man (and her uncle at that). Yet, she was sure that if she could, she would have put in her two cents’ worth.
Monsieur Fade shot a meaningful glance in her direction in silent admonition, and to Talya, he said, “I can see by your reaction you had no idea, did you? But yes, I’m another one of her uncles. She brought you in to see me because she feels indebted to you and she thought I could help somehow.” The smile had left his face. The casual attitude had gone.
He unfolded his long legs, brought his elbows to rest on the blotter in front of him, and continued in earnest, “She told me something about her involvement with the Savoi Mining Company. I’m only a paper shuffler in this government’s administration, a bureaucrat, Madame Kartz, and, it’s not I who should be interested in your dilemma, but a friend of mine. His name is Hassan Sangor. He is a solicitor in town, and he may well be the one person who could work with you to recover the missing funds or at least, assisting you in redressing the deplorable situation in which you’re involved, and the bad reputation your company has in this country.”
This man knows everything about Carmine’s problems. Yet I don’t know anything about him. Except that, he is another of Rheza’s uncle and a paper shuffler.
“I see you’ve been well informed,” Talya replied pointedly.
“My position in this government allows me the luxury to be well informed, especially when events or circumstances happen to involve members of my family.”
“Be that as it may, Monsieur Fade, but am I then to understand that I’m supposed to engage this lawyer friend of yours, to try to resolve one of your family’s problems? I’m not familiar with the laws of your country, yet it seems to me there would be a conflict of interests here.”
“There shouldn’t be any conflict of interests.” The counsellor shook his head. “I have not spoken to Maitre Sangor yet. Should you wish to retain him, you are free to do so. You’re the one who would engage his services, not me, not Rheza.”
“Very well then,” Talya replied flatly. “I’ll think about it, and if you give me his address and phone number, I’ll contact him once I’ve made up my mind.”
He opened the address book in front of him and passed it to Chantal who took down the details. He then replaced the book in the desk drawer and said, “I can understand you would want to take your time to arrive at a decision, but I must remind you that a year has gone by already. You shouldn’t waste any more time to redress this situation. You will have the landowners to contend with, and I’m sure you understand that you can’t postpone the inevitable in this regard.” He paused long enough for Talya to recognize that he, or better said, the Prime Minister was asking—no, demanding—that Carmine make good the promises made to their countrymen. “…and, please remember, Madame Kartz, this was only a suggestion. You have no obligation to take it.”
“I have no intention to dilly-dally in Bamako, believe me,” Talya retorted curtly. “However, I’ll contact Maitre Sangor if and when I choose to do so. In the meantime, I thank you for the trouble you have taken in reminding me of the problems caused by one of your family members, and the bad reputation my company now enjoys thanks to his suspected fraudulent activities.”
Pointed comments they were, but Talya thought Monsieur Fade deserved to hear how she felt about his family’s involvement in this mess.
Their host then rose, indicating the meeting was at an end. “I think we understand each other, Madame Kartz … and it was a pleasure meeting you.”
In a more amiable tone, Talya said, “You can rest assured that your help is appreciated, although unexpected, and a little bias, as it were. I’ll let you know what my decision is when I’ve made up my mind regarding engaging Maitre Sangor.”
They shook hands and Rheza embraced her uncle once more, and whispered a few words in his ear. They said the usual good-byes and Talya and her two companions left.
When they were back in the car, Talya was lost in thought. She didn’t like being manipulated. Rheza turned on the ignition. She seemed dissatisfied.
The drive back was made in silence. When they arrived at the hotel, it was nearly lunchtime. By way of apology for her conduct earlier, justified as it may have been, Talya asked Rheza if she would like to have a drink with them before going back to her office.
“No thank you. I’ll see you both later.” And putting her foot down on the accelerator, Rheza sped away, leaving the two women standing on the hotel’s doorsteps.
They entered the lobby drenched in perspiration. Talya needed a drink and so did Chantal by the looks of things. She was red in the face as if she had run a marathon. They gratefully sat down in the lounge. The morning’s events had taken their toll. They each ordered an orange juice and when their bodies and minds were a little cooler, and they had recovered some of their melted strength, they began talking again.
After having another welcome sip of juice, Chantal was ready for a debriefing. “Well, what do you think? Are you going to retain this lawyer?”
“I don’t know. It seems that everyone is aware of Carmine’s bad reputation, and they all know about the bribing and the promises made to the landowners, but no one is pointing the finger at Savoi—just at me.”
“But that’s to be expected,” Chantal said. “They’re not going to go after one of their own. They’ll expect you, Carmine I mean, to do something. Since Savoi is your agent, they’ll always have an excuse to blame you for whatever he’s done. If it were left to me, I would go after him right away, with a solicitor at my side.”
“Are you saying I should retain this Maitre Sangor?”
“I guess I am. He’s probably very good. And what’s more he’s one of them and they would trust his judgment, better than if you were hiring a Canadian lawyer.”
“Yes, and perhaps because he is endorsed by a member of government, they would have to abide by his findings and his recommendation to prosecute, if it came to that.”
“Yeah, you’ve got it! They want to get rid of Savoi but they want you to do it for them.”
“Okay, I see the point. Let me think about it, though. Now, do you want to join me for lunch?”
“Sorry, I can’t. But thanks for asking.” Chantal got to her feet. “I need to get back to Jean-Claude. He’s leaving tonight and I’ve got to get things ready for him.” Talya understood.
Chantal left the hotel, and Talya went to the restaurant to eat something. She wasn’t hungry, but she knew some food would be welcome. Her body was beginning to feel the aftershock of heat exhaustion.
Back in her room, she wrote a lengthy report to James and brought it down to the desk clerk for him to fax as soon as he could. For her benefit, she made a few notes about Rheza’s relationship to Savoi and to Monsieur Fade, which fact she did not mention in her report to James.
He would have enough to deal with as it is.
As she was about to go to the pool for a swim, the phone rang. The man’s voice was soft although the tone was firm. “Madame Kartz, I presume?” Here we go again!
Talya was about to reply, “Yes, this is Doctor Livingston,” but she wasn’t in the mood.
“My name is Hassan Sangor. My friend, Monsieur Fade, gave me your name with no explanation other than I would do well to ring you.” A likely story...
“I think you may have been misinformed, Maitre. Monsieur Fade may have wanted you to speak to me, but I have no intention to talking to you, not at this time anyway. That will remain the case until I am assured Monsieur Fade, or his family, wouldn’t be made aware of our discussions under any circumstance. The mere fact that Monsieur Fade has given you my address and telephone number, already demonstrates that it may be otherwise.”
“I am a solicitor in Bamako, Madame Kartz, I have practiced in the city and in Paris for over fifteen years, and I’m not in the habit of divulging the conversations I have with my clients to all and sundry.” His voice sounded unruffled. “So, should you decide you might need my services, I will be at your disposal. I believe you have my phone number?”
“Yes, I do, thank you. I’ll be in touch…. Good bye for now,” was Talya’s curt reply before ringing off. She didn’t like to be pressured into doing anything, even if it made all the sense in the world. She felt the morning’s irritation return.
Sitting at the desk, Talya wrote in her journal:
Our Monsieur Savoi is in hiding, God knows where!
Monsieur Kane isn’t keen on us staying in Mali.
Jean-Claude is on his way back to Europe leaving Chantal to assist me.
Monsieur Fade is twisting my arm to engage this lawyer friend of his.
If I don’t do something about them rather quickly, I may have a bunch of landowners at my doorstep demanding reimbursement of their finders’ fees.
And the elegant Rheza, who couldn’t care less about Carmine’s permit application, is manipulating the circumstances.
That, pretty well summarizes the situation at this point, after two days in Bamako.

Looking at this impressive list of what could very well become major problems, Talya did what she should have done the morning before; she picked up the phone and dialled Savoi’s number.
Mr. Touré, the company secretary, answered, “Oh, Madame Kartz, I’m so pleased to hear from you.” I bet you are.
Evading the smooth introduction and platitudes, Talya asked the man if she could speak to his boss.
“Yes, of course, but Monsieur Savoi is not in at the moment. Could I leave a message for him?”
“Yes, Monsieur Touré, you may. Just tell Monsieur Savoi I rang. And, please make sure you also tell him that if he wants to see his next paycheque, he better come to the Grand Hotel tonight at seven o’clock for a meeting.” She didn’t allow Touré to respond nor to react; she just hung up. Talya felt better and went to the pool.
13
Rheza drove out of the Grand Hotel’s parking lot. She was angry, frustrated and sad all at once. Madame Kartz and this Chantal Gauthier woman were more than she could handle at the moment.
When they had received the letter from James Flaubert, saying Madame Kartz was coming to Bamako, her uncle Amadou Savoi told her he would stay unseen for a while, “to think things over.”
Although she knew very well that her uncle had accepted a salary he didn’t really deserve for the amount of work they had done, she had benefited from their venture in many ways. This car, for one thing, it didn’t belong to her personally, but she had been driving it for months now. It was her car. In fact, there was too much to sacrifice for her or for her uncle to slip-up now. They would lose everything.
If nothing else, these thoughts made her realize that she had started on a path of deceit from where there was no escape, no return.
Maybe, going to Uncle Mohammed with Madame Kartz, had been a mistake. She had elaborately told one lie after another. She had told him that Uncle Amadou had gone out of town on business and he was solely responsible for the disappearance of the money. The worst part of it was that Uncle Mohammed had believed her. Rheza felt as if she was sinking in quicksand.
She turned into Main Street not knowing what to do, or where to go next. She drove through the central market for a while and stopped in front of one of the women who were squatting at kerbside. She was chewing on a ‘soteou’, a wooden stick, to clean her teeth. She looked serene. Rheza thought, if she could, she would gladly change place with the fruit seller.
Overwhelmed by a sense of guilt and dread, she was terrified of what could happen. If Madame Kartz discovered the truth—and Rheza knew instinctively that she would eventually—all would be lost. She stepped out of the car, called to the woman and purchased some mangoes, some vegetables and a bag of peanuts.
Lost in thought, she took a walk through the market; she went to the tailor shop. The children needed new shirts and she bought some trousers for Tom, her eldest.
They would need much more than clothing come September. She had promised both of them they would attend boarding school in France….
Rheza was sinking in a mire of mixed emotions, and a terrible premonition hung over her head like a Damocles sword.
She knew she had abused Madame Kartz’s trust—the woman was gullible anyway. Her conscience was nagging at her, however. She shouldn’t be taking further advantage of the offer Madame Kartz had made. How could she even go to the hotel in the first place, and offer her services pretending that she hadn’t been paid. That was so stupid. Nonetheless, she would need money soon, and maybe if she was careful enough she could pull it off, for a little while longer, or could she?
Sitting back at the wheel, she decided to drive out of town to the villa. Maybe Uncle Amadou was there.
The drive was pleasant enough. The late afternoon sun wasn’t too hot and the wind from the open window was soothing. Rheza needed soothing. She needed to be in her husband’s arms. He was gone. The reality of this loss had eluded Rheza for the longest time.
Soon after her husband passed away, Rheza came back to Mali to seek refuge with her uncle, Amadou Savoi. Instead of comfort and peace, she found a man who had become a businessman without scruples, the kind of person she used to meet in the big cities of Europe and America; the kind of man who had only time for himself and making money.
Nevertheless, once she had settled behind the director’s desk at the Savoi Mining Company, and into the prestige of the position, Rheza had been lured into her uncle’s dubious schemes and had willingly participated in anything that had been materially profitable for both of them.
However now, he was no longer a man she wanted to trust; she knew him too well.
For all that, she was sad. Now more than ever, when she thought she could win at the game of life, it seemed everything was falling apart around her.
She parked the car in the driveway. This was a French Colonial house surrounded by majestic old trees, lush lawns and trimmed hedges. The structure itself had suffered a little during the years it had been vacant, yet it had preserved the comfortable allure of the Mediterranean residence. It was a pretty place full of memories. Uncle Amadou’s first wife had lived here and the children had grown up in this house. It was Rheza’s family retreat.
As she approached the front entrance, an impressive brace of mahogany doors, everything was quiet. It looked unoccupied. She walked around to the back door, pushed it open and entered the laundry room. The tranquillity of the place was unchallenged by the sound of her steps on the tiled floor. Suddenly Rheza felt very cold. There was no wind or even a breath of air as if she was in the eye of a storm; one step outside the circle of safety and the tempest would sweep her away.
Perhaps, and for no other reason than the stillness enveloping her, she was petrified. She didn’t know why. She had been at the villa the night before and although everything seemed the same, premonition in her heart was sounding a very loud tocsin.
Where was Allan, Uncle Amadou’s manservant? He was there last night.
She took a few steps farther inside. Cautiously first, she called her uncle’s name. There was no response. Where was he? Asleep on the sofa, perhaps? She ventured slowly toward the kitchen. A door screeched. Rheza jumped, as if pulled back by an unseen hand. Her heart was beating so hard that she could hear it thumping in her chest. Cold sweat ran down her spine.
“What on earth are you so afraid of? Uncle Amadou must be out taking a walk that’s all.” Rheza was saying this aloud as if the sound of her voice could calm her down. Carefully, she made her way to the lounge room—still nothing. All the curtains were drawn. The place was dark, full of shadows.
It became so unbearable that Rheza turned, scurried toward the back door, and ran out to her car. She no longer wanted to talk to her uncle. She was frightened. Everywhere she turned an enemy was lurking. A ghost was waiting for her to make the wrong move. She sat in the car and began crying. She could not bear it anymore. Rheza McLean had become afraid of her own shadow.
“Now what?” she muttered. She was on her way back to town. What on earth happened to him? What am I going to do? These questions were at the tail end of one quandary, which came to the forefront of her thoughts. What would happen if he really left her stranded, and holding the bag? Tears of fear and despair rolled down her cheeks now. There was no longer any sadness in Rheza’s heart, just fear of being held responsible for the mess Amadou Savoi had created. She needed to find him. She had to find him, if for no other reason than that of the sake of her children; they could not grow up facing the shame of having a mother who had been an accomplice to a criminal.
14
Talya took a deep breath and put the book down in her lap. She wasn’t reading it anyway. She had done it; she had taken the first step. Will Savoi show up tonight? She couldn’t be sure. It was nearly four o’clock. She got up from the lounge chair she had occupied for a few minutes only, slipped back into her sundress, grabbed her towel and bag, and returned to her room. She threw all her sunbathing paraphernalia on the bed, went to the phone and dialled the number.
“Maitre Sangor please.”
“Just one moment. May I ask who’s calling?”
“Madame Kartz.”
He came on the line almost instantly. “Madame Kartz. I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.” The surprise in his voice was obvious.
“I’m sorry to disturb you but I wondered if I might impose upon you to attend a meeting with Monsieur Savoi at seven o’clock tonight, at the hotel. And, if your schedule permits, I’d like you to come ahead of time to discuss the matter.”
The line went dead for a moment.
“Yes, I could do that. What time would you like me to be there?” He sounded unsure.
“Make it six o’clock, if you don’t mind. That will give us enough time to review the situation.”
“That’ll be fine. I’ll call you when I arrive.”
“Thank you, Maitre. I’ll see you then.” At these words, Talya replaced the receiver in the cradle and reclined on the pillows trying to picture him. Maitre Sangor; what was he like? Was he old or young? Was he good-looking? His gentle voice didn’t give Talya any clue except one—he was black. His accent, although very subtle, told her that much. He sounded very professional. She tried to draw his face in her mind’s eye and within moments she dozed off.
A strident ring woke her with a start—the phone again. She looked at the alarm clock. The red numbers glared at her: 6:00PM. She had slept nearly two hours.
Maitre Sanger’s voice came on the line. He said he was waiting for her in the lobby. Gracious, the man is punctual.
In Africa, punctuality is not a matter of course and does not equate politeness. Delays, followed by lengthy excuses and other forms of casual attitudes taking the place of promptitude, are quite common.
She went to the bathroom, splashed some water on her face and looked in the mirror at this image of the dowdy teacher, a caricature to which Talya compared herself very often. The lines under her eyes attested to her disturbed sleep. While she was brushing her teeth, still staring at her reflection, she told herself me-myself-and-I will be back no later than eight o’clock, so tonight could be devoted to writing (maybe). She went to the wardrobe and looked at what was hanging in there, nothing that would make an impression. She picked a pair of white pants and a laced blouse to match. That will have to do for tonight.
Coming down the stairs, she had time to take a look at Maitre Sangor. He was waiting for her. He was tall and very handsome. Is he ever? His face was smooth and didn’t betray his age although his light brown skin showed signs of maturity. His allure was distinguished, almost aristocratic. He wore a dark green suit, tailored to define his muscular stature. Leather case in hand, he looked as much the attorney as he probably was. When Talya reached the last step, he came toward her, a broad smile crossing his lips.
“Madame Kartz, it is a pleasure meeting you.” He extended a hand. His handshake was firm.
“Thank you, Maitre, enchantée …”
“Are you well rested?”
“Yes, thank you.” It is customary throughout Africa to sleep off the afternoon’s heat and carry on with the tasks of the day until late in the evening, so Talya didn’t try to hide the fact that she had just woken from a long nap.
They went to the lounge, Hassan Sangor courteously holding the door open for her. As on the previous evening, the place was crowded with couples and businessmen who were sipping various colourful beverages. They were chatting, drinking, smoking, and overall they appeared very relaxed. A couple of white men, sitting in a corner, brushed a curious glance in their direction when they came in. A white woman accompanied by a black man possibly didn’t agree with their principles. Talya had noticed however, a long time ago, that the reverse—a white man taking out a black woman—was quite acceptable.
They sat down in a nook near a far-side window, Hassan in a chair, Talya in the corner of a sofa, not to be disturbed.
These couches are far too comfortable to carry on with a business meeting, but the lounge was the only venue in the hotel where it could take place. Inviting a man—even her solicitor—to the privacy of her suite, was absolutely out of the question, for now.
Talya asked Maitre Sangor if he wanted a tea, an orange juice or a soda. Since she suspected he was a practicing Muslim, offering him any form of alcoholic beverages would have been a faux pas. He accepted and they ordered two glasses of orange juice.
Once the waiter had set the drinks on the table and had departed unobtrusively, Talya began, “Maitre, I had very little choice in calling you tonight….”
Hassan Sangor looked at her with detachment. His brown eyes, behind a pair of gold-rimmed glasses, were bright, smiling almost. He made no comments.
Talya sighed and launched into her story. She described in detail what had brought her to Mali and what had occurred since her arrival.
When she concluded, he held her gaze, maybe reflecting for a moment on what he had just heard. “Very little in what you’ve just explained should preclude me from taking your case,” he said neutrally. “I need to remind you, however, that I have to live in this town after you have gone home. So I will not associate myself with disreputable parties.” Such as Carmine. “Nevertheless, your story intrigues me. I will add that I usually win the cases I defend, or the procedures I start against people who have what I call by-passed the law. Let’s just say the evening will be revealing for us both. It will be a cursory meeting, I imagine, and I will let you know what my decision will be before I leave. If these conditions are agreeable to you, we can proceed.”
Talya was impressed. His self-assured manner and his outward confidence in his ability smoothed the edginess she felt earlier. As for trusting him, Talya had some ways to go yet.
“As I explained, Maitre, not only do we have a problem with Monsieur Savoi, most likely embezzling funds, but I will possibly have to face twelve angry landowners, who will want reimbursement of their finders’ fees.”
“Yes, you can assume that these people will be travelling to Bamako as soon as they are told you are in town. However, and providing that I accept to take your case, I would propose to meet with each of them in turn, and examine each of their request separately. As you mentioned, money does not always talk in Africa. We might find a terrain d’entente aside from the reimbursement of these fees in cash.”
“Yes,” Talya said. I couldn’t see him ‘traipsing’ the countryside, as Chantal described it. “But I think for the time being, at least, we should concentrate on finding out what Monsieur Savoi has done thus far and where our funds have gone.”
“I agree that it should be on top of the agenda. Unfortunately, this is not a unique occurrence in these parts. Many investors have lost their money at the hands of thieves. Yet, we need to give him the benefit of the doubt…”
She fixed her eyes on him. “I wouldn’t be so generous. There is no doubt in my mind—none whatsoever— Monsieur Savoi has flown the coop with our money.”
“Let’s just wait and see what he has to tell us first, shall we?”
Talya made no reply. This ‘benefit of the doubt’ business had no place in her agenda as far as Savoi was concerned. She had him ‘guilty as charged’—no question.
Time seemed to lapse at a snail’s pace. They sipped their drinks, looked at each other furtively. Talya’s mind was made up; the man was a challenge, an unnerving annoyance but…, he was ever so handsome.
At seven o’clock, someone flung the door of the bar wide open. Both Talya and Hassan stared at the newcomer in disbelief. The person, who looked around to find them and practically ran in, was not Savoi—it was Rheza. She was breathless as if she had been running a mile.
Talya uttered, “What are you doing here?” when the woman sat down opposite her. She could see her eyes were red; Rheza had been crying. The clay mask had been shattered.
Between gasps, she said, “Madame Kartz…, Hassan…, something’s really happened to Uncle Amadou…”
Talya couldn’t believe it. Rheza McLean had a talent for attracting attention to herself and leaving gaping holes in her wake for anyone to fall in. “What do you mean ‘something has really’ happened to your uncle?” Talya’s voice was flat and guarded. “Didn’t you tell me last night and this morning, you didn’t know where he was?”
“Yes, yes, I know what I’ve said. But…, but that wasn’t true.”
Lies! Talya hated liars. She usually closed the door on them but on her, Madame Rheza McLean, she was ready to slam it in her face.
“You know, Rheza; somehow I knew that you had lied, but I wondered how far and for how long you intended to deceive me.” Talya said with obvious contempt.
Rheza resumed her sobbing. “I’m … very sorry; I’ve made a mess of everything.”
Throughout this exchange, Hassan had, and still looked perplexed. “Calm down, will you? Tell us what happened,” he said. “Madame Kartz will not be able or willing to help you…” You’ve got that right. “…if you don’t explain what brought you here tonight and what happened to your uncle.”
Rheza took a tissue out of her bag and dabbed her eyes. “That’s just it, Hassan, I … I don’t know what happened. My uncle’s just disappeared.”
“What do you mean disappeared? People don’t just disappear.” Talya retorted with undisguised harshness. “That doesn’t make sense.”
“But it does, Madame Kartz.” Rheza was annoyed now. “You see, I left him last night at the villa and this afternoon he wasn’t there. The house was empty. I don’t know where he is….”
The indignation and frustration Talya felt toward Rheza must have been visible enough for Hassan to shoot a reproving glance in her direction. “What makes you say your uncle has disappeared?” Hassan sounded ever so gentle. “A man doesn’t just walk out of life without a trace, so let’s start at the beginning, shall we?”
Meanwhile, Talya stood up, walked to the bar and ordered another orange juice. She then regained her seat, put the juice in front of Rheza and waited for her to calm down. Talya was seething. And to think she had the nerve of asking me for a job!
After a few minutes, Madame McLean resumed her tall-tale. “When I left you this afternoon, I went to the market, I didn’t know what to do. When I had done a bit of shopping, I decided to go and see my uncle. There’s something…, Madame Kartz…, when we learned you were coming to Mali, Uncle Amadou became very agitated. He told me he needed to go away, to think things through.” She took a sip of juice. “He said I should look after the office and to do everything necessary with the Mines Department, so you could get, at least, one permit application through the system. In the meantime he would see to it that the money spent was justified and the proprietors reimbursed in some way.” She leaned back in the sofa, wiping her eyes, catching her breath. “And…, I was stupid enough to believe him and go along with it.” She then paused, her eyes full of tears once again.
She had made a clean breast of almost everything. Talya and her attorney traded a glance. They wanted Rheza to continue with her story.
Watching for their reaction in turn, Rheza drank a large gulp of juice. It seemed to be the truth potion she needed. “…I drove to the villa. It’s just outside of town. When I got there, the place was deserted. Yesterday evening, my uncle was there. I know, because we had dinner together and I came home late. And Allan was there, too.”
Talya frowned. “Who’s Allan?”
“That’s the house-boy.”
“Sorry, I just wanted to know. Please go on.”
“Well, as I found the house empty, I got scared. I thought something had happened to him. After that, I went back to the office. Monsieur Touré told me about tonight’s meeting. He said he had tried several times to contact my uncle at the villa. Of course, Uncle Amadou wasn’t there to answer. After that, Monsieur Touré said he called everywhere in town where my uncle usually went—but nothing.”
Talya sensed that Rheza had reached the end of her narrative then. “But, you’ve said this morning that you had phoned someone in New York and found out your uncle had supposedly swindled quite a few people other than my company. Was that a lie also? Or is it possible your uncle took a flight to New York this morning to try to do what he said he would—to justify the spending of the money?”
Now who’s giving the benefit of the doubt?
Rheza looked up at Talya and shook her head slowly. “You’re very kind to think my uncle’s gone to America to solve the problem. But, I am ashamed to admit it, he’s more likely to have gone somewhere with some of the money he stashed away someplace.”
“Do you know for a fact that he has hidden the money, or has he spent it; on such items as your Mercedes?” Which was probably closer to the truth, but again, Talya had to ask.
“No. I don’t know … I mean I don’t know what happened to the money besides what he bought for me … or for himself.”
“What I don’t understand is what could have frightened you at the villa, since you knew your uncle was in hiding anyway?”
“I don’t know, Hassan, it was the way the house looked, I suppose. All the shutters and doors were closed, except for the back door. Uncle Amadou is such a stickler for locking everything up when he goes away, he wouldn’t have left that door open. I just don’t know…”
Hassan shook his head. “Did you notice if anything was missing, like the stereo, the television set or anything valuable? Did you look at the back door? Was it wide open, ajar or just unlocked?”
“I think ... I think the door was ajar, but everything was there … I think. And, and, when I was in the house I heard a noise upstairs. I remember being afraid because there’d been no other sound, not even the wind outside—there was nothing….”
“What about his wives, wouldn’t they know where he is?”
I hadn’t thought about that, but he is right—what about the wives?
“I don’t know, Hassan, all three live in their house north of the city…”
Three wives—it must be a very expensive household... Talya had to ask, “Could he have gone there?”
“I don’t think so … I think they’re gone visiting their families in Kayes.… I haven’t seen them ever since Uncle Amadou went to the villa. And I don’t think he wants their families to know about what he’s been doing…”
Talya had heard enough. She glared at Rheza. “Okay, we can’t do anything tonight. You should go home and maybe talk to Monsieur Fade. Also, call your uncle’s associate in New York again, and see if he has heard anything. Then, tomorrow morning we’ll decide what we should do next.”
Obviously, Rheza had heard the acerbity in Talya’s voice. She stood up and looked at both of them in dismay.
Hassan rose as well and accompanied her to the door. Talya saw him whisper to her some soothing words, she presumed. Rheza nodded, said “good night,” and walked out.
Soon after Rheza left, her attorney came back to his seat and said, “This woman has been hurt by a member of her family. She is going to have to deal with this in her own way. You shouldn’t be overly concerned by her reaction. I know you’re angry with her but let her be. We’ll see what she does next. Maybe she’ll lead us to Savoi?”
“Perhaps, Hassan—may I call you Hassan?”
“Yes, you may, only if I may call you Talya.”
“Thank you and I much prefer to be called by my first name anyway.” Talya smiled (finally) and drank what was left of her juice. “All I can say is I’ve heard enough lies to last me for awhile. Do you think Savoi has really disappeared?”
“I think from what we’ve heard tonight, we can safely assume your agent has left the country. I’ll try to find out where he is and phone you when I have something to report. I guess I’ll be taking your case after all. As I said before, it intrigues me.”
“Thank you for that. In fact, to tell you the truth, it’s a relief to hear you’ve agreed to help me. But it looks like this is not going to be as simple as all that. So, I’d like to make sure you understand that my company isn’t ready to pay exorbitant fees for investigating an embezzler’s disappearance. We’ll only want to ascertain he’s gone—that’s all. After that we’ll see what we need to do.”
Hassan stood up and shook Talya’s hand. “Don’t worry; I’ll try to be reasonable.” He smiled… What is it that irritates me so when he smiles? …and walked out. Talya stood looking after him and paused for a moment.
15
Hassan got into his car. The night was fine, no clouds looming. The moon rolled on the night sky like an orange on a black velvet cloth. He liked these kinds of evenings. He was longing to go away again; seeing other moons in other skies. It would feel so good to be in Paris or perhaps in Vancouver right now. Madame Kartz (Talya) seemed to be such a fine woman—a little too strict, bossy, perhaps. Yet, didn’t he like those traits in a woman? Hassan thought he would enjoy working with her. Maybe she would take him away from Mali. It was not that Hassan didn’t like Bamako or his family, his friends or even his work; it was just that he felt his future was not here. He didn’t want it to be here. There was so much more to learn some place else. He knew he needed more than Bamako had to offer, and could get more out of life if he were not to stay in this town.
He backed out of the parking lot and drove through the city toward his house. Then he remembered what he had promised to do: look into Savoi’s disappearance. Where is that idiot? He turned the next corner down an alley and took the main boulevard southward in the direction of his friend’s place, Mohammed Fade.
When Hassan reached his destination, the lights shone everywhere in the house. The man was sitting outside on the bench where he usually sat of an evening for all the years Hassan had known him. He parked the car, got out and walked toward Mohammed.
The latter could see Hassan’s face under the streetlights. He looked worried about something. What was his friend up to?
“Hi. Mohammed, how are you?” Hassan sat beside him.
“Fine, my friend, what about you? You look worried? What’s happening?”
“I don’t know what’s happening. That’s what’s worrying me.”
“Well, first let me get you some tea…. Then you’ll tell me what’s on your mind.”
That was a ritual between the two men. When Hassan visited Mohammed, he would ask for some tea to be brought out to them and they would drink the steaming brew sitting on the bench and talking about the events of the day. This time was no different. Mohammed called for the tea and whence it came, they began talking.
“I got a call from Madame Kartz this afternoon…”
A loud whistle from Mohammed interrupted him. “Do you mean the woman actually called you?” It was as if he wanted to hear again what he couldn’t bring himself to believe.
“Well, yes and no. I called her first. But she rang me back twenty minutes later.”
“Then what happened?”
“She said she had organized a meeting with Amadou Savoi and invited me to attend.”
“Are you saying that she talked to Amadou?”
“No, she didn’t. She called and got Touré on the line. You know the clerk in their office? She gave him an ultimatum to say that if Amadou didn’t show up for the meeting he wouldn’t get his next paycheque.”
“Are you telling me, that didn’t bring Amadou to the table?”
“Yes. Rheza showed up instead.”
“What? Why? Why would she go to the meeting?” Mohammed was astonished.
“Now don’t get excited. I’ll tell you what happened.”
Hassan went on to tell his friend about Rheza’s deceit. He also mentioned what he had promised to do when he left the Grand Hotel. Mohammed pondered for a few moments. What Hassan revealed about his niece’s dishonesty and further involvement in this affair, left a bitter taste in Mohammed’s mouth, and it worried him.
“I think what you should do is to go to the villa as soon as you can, and see for yourself what’s happening out there. It may be nothing but as Rheza said, the back door being opened does not sound like Amadou.” Mohammed, then, while gazing at his friend for a moment, shook his head and started laughing.
“What’s funny?” Hassan was quite unprepared for Mohammed’s unexpected hilarity.
“Well, I’ll tell you. Amadou Savoi, you’ve never met him have you? He must be the biggest con artist on this side of the desert. Usually, people wouldn’t go after him when they’ve been swindled. It costs too much to go to court, but you know all about that. Now, finally his sins have caught up with him. Someone is going to clean him out. You must admit that’s a sweet prospect.”
“It sounds as if you’ve been taken for a ride also?”
“Oh yes, I have, I surely have, but that’s another story. And yes, I’d like to see him pay for his crimes. He has hurt a lot of people and it’s about time he’d be stopped.”
“But he is family, he is a brother?”
“The black sheep of our family, you mean? And it’s a real shame to have a brother the likes of him.”
Hassan talked with his friend for a little while longer and then decided to go home. It was late and he was hungry. He would go to Savoi’s villa as soon as he could. Mohammed had given him directions how to get there. It sounded like a secluded place, the perfect hideout.
Driving back to his house, Hassan could not stop thinking about Talya. What was it about this woman that attracted him? He wanted to return to the hotel, find her and talk to her. That’s nonsense. He had nothing more to say to her right now. If he did, she would be offended, he was sure.
Once at home, he took a shower, ate the meal the housekeeper had left for him and sat at his computer intending to write a few letters. He looked at the blank page on the screen and couldn’t type the first word. Talya was there. She was infiltrating his thoughts. He decided it was no good trying and went to bed instead. All the while Talya was still there, ever present in his mind. He didn’t fall asleep until first light.
16
As Talya climbed the stairs up to her room, she couldn’t help feeling that something was very wrong—woman’s intuition perhaps? She didn’t know what Rheza had seen or not seen in that house. She, too, was a woman with feelings. She had sensed something awful. She had felt threatened somehow. She had been scared, but why? Talya had never met this Monsieur Savoi. She had only seen a picture of him, which James showed her before she left. On that photo, Savoi looked like a fat cat—a small and greasy fellow, bald with a thick moustache over a spiteful grin. Where was he? Where did he go? He must have gone to New York. Talya tried to convince herself of it. It upset her that she couldn’t do anything. She didn’t know anyone in town, except Chantal, and she couldn’t possibly be of any assistance at the moment, since she didn’t seem to know many people either.
Talya sat on the bed, picked up the phone and dialled James’s number. She had to tell him what happened. The fax she wrote that afternoon, had become old news—things were moving much too fast. Events were cascading down at her feet and she was being splashed to the point of not being able to catch her breath. She didn’t like it. Maybe he could give her some idea as to the connection, which existed between Savoi and this New York person. As she recalled, James had mentioned meeting Savoi for the first time in New York….
Sabrina answered at first ring, and put the call through to James immediately.
“Talya. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you. But nothing else is around here.”
“What’s wrong? What’s happening?”
“Oh, just that Savoi has disappeared.” The line went dead. The silence was so heavy across the ocean; Talya thought that they had been cut-off.
James was the first to speak. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean just what I said. Savoi hasn’t been seen at his villa since last night and no one has any idea where he is.” She went on to tell James the whole story since her landing in Bamako—most of which she had already related in her report—and waited for his comments. She could have sworn she heard the grinding wheels of his brain over the line.
“Perhaps, you should come home.” His voice sounded worried. “If people start disappearing, no telling what could happen to you.”
“I know you’re concerned, but my going home is not going to solve anything. We’ve got a lot at stake here. Who’s to know Savoi hasn’t just gone away somewhere for awhile hoping I would do just that: go home, so he could start playing games again. I can’t just forget about Kankoon either—I’ve got to file that application. Apart from finding out what happened to our funds, it was the main purpose for my coming here, wasn’t it?”
“Okay, you’ve made your point. I’ll talk to the fellows here and let you know what we suggest you do.”
“Fine… If you can’t reach me at the hotel, just send a fax or leave a message. I’ll call you back when I have something to report.”
“All right then, but be careful, will you? I don’t like it. Something isn’t right …”
“I know what you’re saying but I can’t just play into Savoi’s hands. I need to know what’s going on…”
“Just a minute, hold on. Terry just came in, stay on the line, will you, I’ll tell him what happened … or better we’ll call you right back when we’ve had a chance to talk. Okay? Talk to you in a few minutes.”
“I’ll be right here.” They hung up. Talya was glad that Terry came in the office. She was sure he would see through this muddle and perhaps give her some pointers as to what the next step should be.
Within fifteen minutes, the phone rang. Talya was startled even though she was expecting the call. She must have been nervous, tense, anxious or all of the above.
“Talya, I’ve put you on the speaker so we can all hear you. I’ve got Terry and Ken in the office with me.”
Ken? What’s he doing there? Does he want my expense claim already?
“Hi, fellows.”
“Okay.” James was speaking. “Just tell us what you plan to do at this point.”
“Thanks. As James told you, Savoi has apparently flown the coop, taking our money with him. And, well…” Talya hesitated. “At the moment, I think I need to concentrate on filing the Kankoon application. But Mr. Kane won’t accept an application unless we can prove that we had nothing to do with the bribing that’s been going on, and to do that, I will need to find Savoi.”
“Talya, this is Terry. I’ve heard the story from James and it sounds to me like the man doesn’t want to be found. My suggestion is that you don’t waste time with the fellow right now. Let him wander. If I’m right, he’ll re-appear when you least expect it. In the meantime, you should start from scratch, as Mr. Kane suggested, and re-apply as quickly as you can. I’m sure the bribing bit will be set aside once Kane sees that we mean business. Doing that would also justify part of the money we’ve spent and we could write off the rest in some way.”
“Talya? Ken here. I agree with Terry. I don’t think there is any way for you, or anyone for that matter, to recover the money we’ve sent to Savoi. There is no doubt those funds have been spent long ago. Now what’s important is to account for the expenditure, at least partly, so we have something to show for it. As Terry said, let’s forget about Savoi and this bribing business for now, we’ll see about that later. Anyway that’s our suggestion.”
They were right, of course. Yet, Savoi’s disappearance worried Talya. What’s more, she was quite sure they needed to clear-up the bribing accusations. Kane will not set them aside. She needed to follow her instincts.
“Yes, I agree with you, we may have to kiss the money goodbye, but at this time, I don’t think we can get the Kankoon permit unless I can clear Carmine’s name, and to do that, I will need to locate Savoi.” Talya realized that she sounded like the proverbial broken record, but she needed them to understand that without Savoi they couldn’t move forward—even if they were able to file the application—without clearing Carmine’s name, they wouldn’t be able to obtain any permit.
James got back on the line. “What about this lawyer that you have engaged, can’t he locate him?”
“I could ask him, yes. In the meantime, I think I’ll start on the documentation and see how far I get.”
“Good,” James said, an approving tone in his voice. “I’ll ask Stanley to send you the power-of-attorney and all the rest of it by courier.”
“Actually, we should have given you a POA before you left,” Ken remarked.
“Yes,” Talya put in, “yet, all of us thought that Savoi and his company would act on our behalf, such as a partner would, without the need for me to have a POA.”
“I agree, but what is done is done,” Terry rejoined, “and we don’t have time to revisit our partnership with Savoi now, so let’s move forward and get you what you need.”
“Well, Talya, you know what the goal is,” James said. “We need a permit to justify some of the expenditure and write-off the rest. That should be your primary objective. If it becomes imperative for you to find Savoi, you talk to the lawyer, yet Savoi may show up unexpectedly, as Terry said. Or maybe you’ll hear from him when he’ll want his check at the end of the month.”
“I think it’s very likely that the man will need money, because did you know he has three wives?” Talya thought she would add that in to rejoin Ken’s comments about the money having disappeared long ago. The three men laughed and she could hear them making inane remarks about the mess such a ménage-à-quatre would make.
They ended the conversation on a happy note, which relieved some of the strain under which Talya had been all day.
By this time, nearly midnight, she was very hungry. She had forgotten to eat. Apart from the orange juice in the evening, she had not eaten anything since lunch. She picked up her key and went downstairs to see if she could get a snack. She was in luck. There was a flight arriving from Paris that night and the passengers usually wanted something to eat, same as Talya, so the manager had kept the kitchen open. She ate at the bar. She was lost in thought. Hassan—what a handsome fellow, but irritating … Rheza’s lies … The landowners—what kind of settlement would satisfy them? Talya didn’t talk about that with James and the fellows … maybe it’s just as well—until I know what would appease them. She didn’t want to stir the pot … And Savoi … Where is he? What happened to him?
Once she finished eating her crusty bread sandwich and drank her tea, she felt more relaxed. Although her mind was still abuzz with unresolved problems, as soon as her head hit the pillow, she was asleep.
17
The harsh light of the morning sunrise woke her. As in most parts of Africa, you don’t need to listen to the weather forecast, you know what tomorrow will bring—98% chances of sunshine, 2% chances of rain and the reverse is true during the wet season. In Bamako, you enjoy the most reliable climate conditions, but they’re also the most tedious. Day after day the same heat, the same dust, and the same smell. It gets to the point where you want to see rain, feel the wetness on your face, stare at the clouds, breathe the freshness of snow, and yes, you even start wanting to feel cold and shivering.
That morning brought nothing more than sunshine. Talya got up, took a shower and went downstairs to have breakfast. There was a large envelope in her mailbox, containing pages and pages of faxed documents. Ken had done his homework. He had sent her details of every transaction which had taken place between Carmine and Savoi’s company. She also received a faxed copy of her power-of-attorney (the original of which Talya was to get a couple of days later in the Canadian consulate’s pouch, she had been told). Stanley’s blurb on the company’s history, registration, etc. was also among the umpteen pages Talya pulled out of the envelope, all of which she would need to write the Kankoon application, to start from scratch as Kane had suggested.
She went over everything while eating her croissants. Croissants are a specialty in France but in the old colonies, they’re as good as they come. The bakers have learned the trade from the best.
There was a lot for her to absorb, and soon a pattern emerged. From everything she was reading, Carmine had entered into a partnership with Savoi’s company and none of the basic terms of representation had been fulfilled. In fact, Savoi had reported the filing of applications but had not sent copies of the paperwork—they had no proof of any transactions having taken place.
After coffee, orange juice and a couple or three croissants, Talya felt she was ready to begin working—doing some real work for a change.
She phoned Hassan. His secretary told her that Maitre Sangor was in court. He had left a message saying that Talya shouldn’t expect to see him for a few days since he had just begun a trial hearing that morning. Talya thanked the lady—Daphne was her name—and asked her to have her boss call her when he was available.
She called Chantal next. She picked up the phone at the first ring.
“Hello, Chantal, how are you?”
“Oh. Hi, Talya….” It sounded as if she was expecting to hear someone else’s voice. “I’m fine; I’m waiting for a ring from the hospital in Brussels. Jean-Claude arrived during the night and they’ve decided to operate on his shoulder right away to put the bones back in their proper places. So, now I’m waiting to hear from the doctor.”
“That’s great. I’m sure it won’t be long now. Everything will be fine.”
“I sure hope you’re right. But, I can’t stand the waiting. Minutes seem like hours. I feel like I’ve been staring at this phone for days now.”
“And you have. Well, not maybe for days, but hours can seem like days when you’re waiting for a call, I know. In any case, I won’t keep you. I just phoned to see how you were. Now I don’t want you to miss your call, so I’ll let you go.”
“Okay. It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you, but you understand? I’ll phone you when I hear from the doctors and then you can tell me what happened since I left.”
“I understand, don’t worry. We’ll talk soon.”
Talya’s next call was to Rheza. What was the girl doing? She was curious. She, too, picked up the receiver at first ring.
“Rheza? This is Madame Kartz. I hope I haven’t disturbed you? I was wondering if you have any news from your uncle.”
“Oh. Madame Kartz. I didn’t expect your call. Sorry. I’m waiting for a call from New York. I’m hoping someone up there will tell me my uncle’s okay, or where he is. I can’t get over it. I’m so worried. I have a bad feeling about all this.”
“I can only repeat what I’ve told you last night. Maybe your uncle is doing the right thing for once and everything will be all right.”
“You don’t believe that. You know it isn’t true. I tell you, my uncle’s gone and if he’s not in New York, I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“Rheza, listen to me. If what you say is true, then yes, we may have a problem, but until we know for sure, we’ll simply have to wait. I’ll hang up now because I wouldn’t want you to miss his call. And please ring me when you have heard from your contact in New York, Okay?”
“Sure. I’ll call you.” Rheza rang off.
It seemed everyone was doing something and Talya, too, had a full day ahead of her.
She ordered a pot of coffee to be brought up, went to the desk, sat down and began typing.
Earlier that day Talya had asked Monsieur Dia at the front desk, to find her an electronic typewriter and he did. The man was a miracle worker. She couldn’t accept the laptop he wanted to lend her. The government application forms couldn’t be filled-out using a computer.
She went at it with all the concentration she could muster. She needed to apply herself to something tangible. After a couple of hours, she realized that she was already halfway through the first legal document.
For the next two days, Talya continued working her way through the documentation.
One morning she went with Chantal to an appointment Jean-Claude had made with the Resident Manager of a mining company, which held a property in northern Mali, a man by the name of Steve Quinlan. He told them that they were at the beginning of a long road of government haggling over the proposed expenditure for the exploration of the land, meetings, and of endless discussions with Kane. He made the point of telling Talya that in his experience, the second step in acquiring any permits in Mali was the hardest. It consisted of attending an elaborate conference with various ministers and government members who would vote on the application being approved (or rejected). He added that it took him three months to reach that stage and that his company had started with a clean slate—not like Carmine with their tarnished reputation.
Chantal and Talya came out of Steve’s office feeling nothing less than depressed.
“Three months. Did he really say three months? That’s unthinkable,” Talya said, turning to Chantal in the back seat of the taxi, going back to the hotel.
“He did say that, didn’t he? And that was after successful processing of the documentation…”
“I’m not staying here three months. No way on earth would James let me do that anyway.”
“In any case, you’ve got to clean the slate first. You heard the man; you have to get this mess straightened out before you can even consider processing the application.”
“I guess so, and that puts us back at finding Savoi, doesn’t it?” The question was rhetorical, of course, somehow Talya hoped it wasn’t.
“That it does, Talya, no question about it.”

The following day, depressing thoughts gave way to more constructive and objective ones. Talya finished part of the first set of forms and she was attaching maps and accounting files to the ever-growing dossier, when the phone rang. It was Rheza. Since Talya hadn’t heard from her in almost three days, she thought she might have news from Savoi. After her conversation with Steve, Talya was eager to hear what she had to say. Rheza was in tears again. Her voice was hiccupping from sobbing.
“…Uncle Amadou’s not in New York. They said he called last Tuesday … and … he said he was going to Guinée or … to Senegal. He said he has some friends in … Dakar. He said … he had to wait for things to cool down in Bamako … before he’d come back… What am I going to do? I don’t know where he is. I don’t know how to find him …” She paused but the crying continued.
Talya couldn’t understand what all the fuss was about. She’d been told her uncle may be in Dakar. So, what’s the big deal?
“Rheza? Are you listening? Please calm down. Take a deep breath and think about everything you’ve been told.” Talya waited for a reaction. She only got more choking cries. After a few moments, though, the sobbing seemed to subside.
Talya went on. “You’ve said your uncle may be in Dakar? I’m sure he can take care of himself and he’ll phone you as soon as he can.” Especially, since he ran off with a boatload of money.
Again, no reply other than sniffles, so Talya pressed on, “I tell you what; you take a drive, relax, and have a sleep this afternoon. Then, you can phone me later tonight and maybe we can meet in the morning? How’s that sound?”
“Do you know anyone in Dakar?” The girl has a one-track mind.
“No I don’t, Rheza. I think you should be patient. I’m sure your uncle will call soon.” Talya was edging toward the fed-up stage; she had enough of disappearing uncles and sobbing nieces for a while.
“Thanks. I’ll call you tonight. But I really don’t know if I can help you …” I don’t think I need your help right now either!
“I think I’ll leave it up to you to call me whenever you’re satisfied your uncle is safe and sound. In the meantime, I cannot afford to stop working. So, I’ll let you go back to your searching and I’ll talk to you later.”
“Sure, I guess ... Good bye, Madame Kartz.” They hung up.
I have it right up to here.
Talya returned to her desk and continued working, but her mind kept wandering. She couldn’t concentrate. Then, the phone ringing off the hook disturbed her again. It was Hassan’s secretary this time, advising her that Maitre Sangor requested a meeting with her at two o’clock that afternoon, if she would be free to see him. Of course, I’ll be free.
Talya went downstairs and out for a walk. She needed to stretch her legs. Although, it isn’t something a lady does unaccompanied in Bamako, at that moment she didn’t care. She wouldn’t have cared if she were walking on the moon naked. Carmine had spent nearly a half-a-million dollars on this deal, and here she was—nothing to show for it (yet) but a hysterical niece and a disappearing agent. She wanted to tackle the problem head-on. If only she could find Savoi, she would get some answers and get this whole thing cleared up eventually. Before frustration had time to set in, half way down the block, Talya stopped at the ‘Paillote’, a sort of terrace-like restaurant frequented by white tourists. A paillote is a large hut topped with a thatch roof, usually built on the West African coastal resorts to provide shade to the beach-goers who may have had too much sun.
She settled down in one of the lounge chairs facing a little park, which separated her from the hotel pool and read for a while. Then she went to have a drink at the bar. Being nearly lunchtime there were a couple of people sitting on tree-legged stools talking to the bartender, and another few sitting on rattan chairs around wobbly tables. The bartender came toward Talya, a little surprised at having to serve a woman alone, yet he did without comments. She asked for a glass of white wine to take some of the edginess off her brain. She munched on nuts and crackers like a pigeon picking at crumbs on the ground. She ate some of the hors-d’oeuvres the Chef brought in for the patrons. Nothing seemed to work—she had only one question to which she couldn’t find an answer, why did Savoi disappear? He flew the coop, yes, but that to her, was only part of the explanation for his disappearance. She walked back to the Grand Hotel and up to her room to freshen up. It was almost two o’clock. Hassan would show up on time and she wanted to be ready when he got there.
18
Hassan got up early from a restless sleep. The trial had dragged on and he kept on thinking about Talya. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. In the last week, she had managed to open the door to a flood of unchecked emotions. It felt good thinking about her, but it annoyed him all the same. How could this woman have such an effect on him in such a short time? He had dealt with many women in his career and most of them left him cold or insensitive even. There had been several torrid relationships in his life but none had left him so lovingly placid or thrilled. He decided to keep his behaviour in check the next time he would meet with Talya. That was going to be harder than he thought just then.
Something else was on his mind, something that annoyed him. Where was Amadou Savoi? Hassan had not yet taken an hour out of his schedule to go to Savoi’s villa. This darn trial has taken all of my free time.
This man, Savoi, although he didn’t know him, apart from what Mohammed had told him, this man irritated him. For years, Hassan had witnessed this malady. Many of his compatriots wanted to get rich quick. He knew it wasn’t a disease particular to Mali, but a universal malady. However, in his country, the white-man equated easy money and some people would inevitably fall into the temptation to rip-off anyone who came from another continent. Savoi was one of them. Mohammed had said it; he was a ‘first-class con-artist’. What made Hassan angry was the fact that Savoi hadn’t been content with an occasional white man’s rip-off but he had done it to his own people, Malians, and not so rich ones either. The more Hassan thought about it, the more his sense of disgust prevailed over everything he had learned about Monsieur Savoi. It increased his resolve to find the man at once. Whether that was possible or not, he didn’t know. He just had to make it possible, wouldn’t he?
After breakfast, he went to his office. Daphne told him that the afternoon’s meeting with Madame Kartz had been arranged. Hassan was happy to hear Talya had accepted to meet with him again. Why wouldn’t she?
When he left the courthouse, it was nearly lunchtime. As he drove down toward the bridge, at the city’s outskirts, he remembered he hadn’t called Rheza yet. She must have received news from New York by now. Anyway, there was still an hour before having to turn back, and he promised himself to call her before going to the Grand.
He arrived at Savoi’s villa at one o’clock. He parked the car in front of the imposing wooden doors, and as Rheza had done a few days ago, he walked around to the back door. It was still unlocked. He went in. Rheza had been right. It was creepy. Nothing moved. The haunting silence about the place made him shiver. He went to the living room, the terrace, climbed the stairs to the bedrooms, looked into the wardrobes, the bathrooms, and went all over the house. It was definitely empty—no sign of anyone having been near the place for sometime.
Rheza had mentioned she had dinner with her uncle at the villa on Monday night. Was it in that very same dining room where Hassan was now standing? He had a hard time believing it. Dust had already begun to cover every piece of furniture. And where is Allan, his houseboy?
He went back to the door from which he came in. He examined the frame and the lock. Neither showed any sign of forced entry. Hassan was puzzled to say the least. He went out, walked around the house to his car and stood looking at the villa as if the building could tell him what had happened during the past week. Something was wrong. However, he had no time to figure this out; he had to get back to town.
He drove back to his office to find his secretary very agitated and upset.
“What’s going on?”
“I don’t know, Maitre,” she said, a puzzled and harassed look on her face, “but, Madame McLean’s been on the phone four times this morning. She was crying, yelling and talking a lot of nonsense about Madame Kartz, you and Monsieur Fade. I didn’t know what she was saying—something about her uncle having disappeared?”
“Okay, get her on the line and I’ll see what she wants.”
Daphne dialled the number with a sigh of relief.
What on earth is this woman doing? The phone rang on his desk.
“Hello, Rheza? How are you? I’ve heard you’ve called several times. What’s happening? What have you found out from New York?”
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve called. Uncle Amadou isn’t in New York. I don’t know what to do. The people in New York said Uncle Amadou phoned and told them he was going to Dakar. They said he’d mentioned something else—he may have gone to Guinée. I don’t know anyone in Dakar or in Guinée. Why would he go to these places? I really don’t know what to make of it. I talked to Madame Kartz. She said Uncle Amadou would phone as soon as he can, but he hasn’t yet. I can’t help it … I know something’s happened to him. I’ll …”
If Hassan didn’t stop her there and then, he would still be on the phone by the time he should be at the Grand Hotel.
“Hold on, are you saying your uncle may be in Dakar? That’s sounds like good news to me. I think Madame Kartz is right, he’ll call you as soon as he can.”
“But—” Rheza tried to cut-in.
Hassan didn’t let her. “Just relax will you? And wait by the phone till tomorrow. If you haven’t heard from him by then, we’ll see what we can do, okay? Just be patient and hang up. You should leave the line open as long as possible, in case he tries to ring you.”
After a few more soothing words, Hassan hung up. He thought the woman’s behaviour was nothing less than asinine. Even if something was wrong with her uncle, she shouldn’t behave like this. He had an innate aversion to hysterical women. He found he couldn’t handle the often-unwarranted fuss. Another ten minutes and it would be two o’clock….
Hassan left his office in a rush. He wanted, above all, to be on time for his meeting with Talya.
As he came into the lounge, Talya was sitting in one of those overstuffed chairs. She looked anxious and yet relaxed. How can she be both?
19
Once again, the man is well dressed. He wore a navy suit, white shirt and a blue and white striped silk tie. His face was drawn and uneasy.
“Hello, Talya. How are you?” He forced a smile. Hassan was worried about something; it was plain to see.
“Good Afternoon, Hassan. I’m fine, thank you.”
“I’ll have a bissap juice,” Talya said to the waiter who came up to the table as soon as Hassan took a seat.
Hassan looked up at the man. “And, I’ll have an orange juice, thanks.”
“So, tell me what’s been happening?” Talya asked. “Have you found out anything about our friend, Monsieur Savoi?”
“I’m afraid I have a lot more questions than answers at this point. I’ve been at the villa, where Savoi was supposed to have been at the beginning of the week. I tell you, if he was ever there, he has left absolutely no trace of it. It looks as if the house has been closed for the winter, except for that back door…”
As the waiter deposited the drinks on the table, Hassan pulled his wallet out of his jacket pocket and placed a couple of bills on the tray saying, “that’s alright, keep the change.” The man bowed slightly and turned on his heels—smiling.
Returning his attention to Talya, Hassan went on. “Of course, he could have left it open intentionally for the houseboy to have access to the house, and keep an eye on it. Yet, I’m wondering if this is another twist to the series of lies we’ve heard so far.” He paused long enough to take a sip from his juice. “I’ve heard Rheza called you. She rang me also and told me Savoi could be in Dakar.”
“Yes, I’ve talked to her. She said her uncle has been in contact with his associate in New York and apparently, Savoi told him he was going to Dakar. She seems overwrought by the whole thing.” Talya drank some of her bissap juice. “You know, I have a good mind to leave the matter alone for awhile and concentrate on getting the Kankoon application filed with the Department before things get out of hand.”
“Yes, but I suggest I make some discreet inquiries in Dakar to see if I can locate the man while you work on the application.”
“Maybe you’re right, because a couple of days ago I’ve met with Steve Quinlan—maybe you know him?” Hassan’s face showed his ignorance of the man’s identity. “Anyway, he told me that Carmine would need to clean their slate. To me that means we need to find Savoi. Yet, I know that James, or the Board for that matter, won’t pay anyone for investigating Savoi’s whereabouts. Do you see the problem?” Talya felt a sense of helplessness invading her thoughts as she progressed with her explanation of the dilemma she faced. “So what am I supposed to do? I’m told that I have to clean the slate and find Savoi or we won’t get the Kankoon permit. Yet Carmine is not prepared to chase after Savoi because they can’t justify any more spending.”
Hassan didn’t react at first. Elbows on his knees, he just kept on looking at the floor in front of him. Finally, he lifted his head and said, “I know what you’re saying. But, we shouldn’t lose sight of the fact that Savoi may be in some sort of danger or involved in a situation which ultimately could implicate you and your company.”
“What do you mean? Would you please explain what you’ve just said?” Talya was nonplussed. What is he talking about?
“What I mean is this: if Savoi is involved with gangsters or an underworld organization of some sort, it may be prudent to divorce ourselves completely from any further involvement with him or his company. On the other hand, it would be wise for us to know who those enemies are, if there are any. We need to be prepared for any eventuality, so we are not taken by surprise if, or when Savoi decides to implicate Carmine in some of his dealings. Because don’t forget, he’s used Carmine’s money for something. And we don’t know how he used it or with whom, do we?”
“What you’re saying is too fantastic to contemplate.” Talya was taken aback by such an outlandish suggestion. “You’re talking about gangsters, underworld organizations, and I don’t know what else. I can’t even begin to imagine such ramifications being possible, let alone real. I think Savoi has simply flown the coop taking our money—or what’s left of it—in his luggage. I’m sure he’s gone into hiding somewhere, maybe in Dakar.”
Hassan looked at Talya, intent on her every word.
“The way I see it, I have no choice,” Talya went on, “I must continue working on the application. Then, if necessary, I’ll worry about Savoi before we get to the approval stage, which won’t be for another three months according to Steve.” She drank some more juice. “As I said, I have to justify Carmine’s expenses in this country and once I have filed the application, my assignment is over. I can’t stay here for three months waiting for the government to make up its mind or go on searching for the elusive Monsieur Savoi, now can I?” Talya was getting hot under the collar.
“Listen to me…,” Hassan said, “you’ve been here only a few days and it’s not sufficient time to make such a decision. I agree you should continue with the paperwork. In the meantime, I’ll investigate Savoi’s disappearance discreetly.”
“All right, but I can tell you right now Carmine won’t even consider paying you for this.”
“I know, but I can’t let the matter slide. I have to find him, even if I have to do it on my own time. The man is a menace. He’s got to be stopped.” Hassan’s temper was mounting as well.
“Yes, but as I said, it’s more important for us to concentrate on the acquisition of the Kankoon permit. The only thing I’m asking is for your help, if you have the time, of course.”
“I gathered that, Talya, and I will help you. But I’d like to find Savoi as well, not only for the sake of finding him, but to make him pay for what he’s done to you and to his family … and to others.”
All the while they were talking; Talya felt uneasiness rising between them. She sensed Hassan was not telling her everything there was to tell. She had to do something. She needed to pour water over the fire. Experience told her that these mini-storms had a way of turning into unstoppable typhoons. Although she would have liked to see some rain at that moment, she had no desire for a monsoon to descend on their budding friendship.
“I know you are an officer of the courts and I also understand you couldn’t let this ‘matter slide’, as you say. Maybe you’re right, we should find out as much as we can about Savoi’s whereabouts, just in case he decides to make more trouble for us. But I think we have to take it one step at the time.” Hassan seemed to rally round. He was less agitated now.
On an impulse, Talya said, “Now that it’s settled may I ask you to have lunch with me?” A broad smile came across his face. Would he accept? A woman should not invite a man to eat at her table—Islam is not that emancipated—but Talya was not Muslim and she was hoping Hassan had noticed the difference. His gaze was steady and kind. He had not objected. Yet, she was still waiting for his answer.
“I would be delighted,” he said finally. Whew! Talya, your mouth will get you in trouble one of these days. They finished their drinks and went to the restaurant.
As soon as they passed the doors, the headwaiter walked toward them.
“Allah be praised!” He was all smiles, extending a hand for the lawyer to shake. “Hassan, it’s good to see you. What are you doing here?”
“Ishmael, let me introduce Madame Kartz,” Hassan said, shaking hands with the man. “I’m sure the two of you have already met.”
Talya was smiling at the two men. She didn’t know what else to do. This introduction was unexpected. The two of them obviously knew each other.
“Talya, this is my cousin, Ishmael.” Gees! Is everyone related in this town? “He’s been working here since the hotel opened. And, I’m proud to say he’s been doing a great job.” These Malian families are so large; one could probably find a parent just by crossing the street.
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Ishmael. It’s great to put a name to a face, especially if you’re a member of Hassan’s family. I’m honoured indeed.” Muslim courtesy demands that a woman, in any circumstance, show respect to the men in the family.
Then, without further comments, Ishmael led them to a table overlooking the terrace and the swimming pool beyond. They ordered some sandwiches for Talya, and rice and fish for Hassan.
They ate and chatted about everything and nothing in particular. Talya told Hassan about the years she spent in a Muslim school and he recounted some of the stories from his early childhood, his mother, a French woman, who had left him when he was about ten years old after his father died. Family relations raised him and when he finished high school, he enrolled in law school at the Sorbonne in Paris. Throughout the meal they had deliberately avoided the subject foremost in their minds—the ‘Savoi Affair’. When tea was served, however, they couldn’t help themselves; they had to return to it.
Hassan was the lawyer once again. “I know you will succeed in getting a concession in Mali. However, I also know we can’t do it in a few days’ time. Even in the best of circumstances, it would be physically impossible.” Hassan drank a little and continued, “You’re dealing with bureaucrats that are particularly slow and a government, in this instance that would think nothing of sending Carmine home. There are other companies knocking on their doors. If you need them today, they may not need you, not now, not tomorrow. The only way you can hope to reach your goal, as your Mr. Quinlan suggested, is to redress the situation by proving Savoi has done you wrong, and by putting the government in a position whereby they would have to accept your application, no matter what.”
Hassan had hit the nail on the head. Talya recalled what Chantal had suggested earlier that week: “They want to get rid of Savoi but they want you to do it for them.” She knew Carmine was perceived as ‘the bad guy’ and it was a foregone conclusion that until given proof to the contrary, no one would do her any favours, such as processing or sanctioning an application for a permit on their land. It was not just a matter of filing the application and hoping the bribing matter would take care of itself, or hoping that Kane would see that Carmine meant business—no, it was a matter of either finding Savoi or getting out of Mali!
Hassan refilled his cup of tea watching Talya, while her mind wandered in a maze of conjectures. Watching the va-et-vient of people around the pool, Talya asked Hassan how, or what he intended to do about finding Savoi.
“At this point, I really don’t know. There must be a reason for which Savoi has chosen Dakar to seek haven. Maybe someone knows something. If Savoi has connections in Dakar, I’ll try to find out who they are or what the deal is.”
“Yes, I think it’s important we find out why the man has gone to Dakar. There must be something or someone there, which gave him a reason to flee to Senegal. Do you think there is any point in you looking for Savoi in Guinée?”
“No. I have a hunch, and I’m sure I’m right, the man is in Dakar.”
“Perhaps you’re right….” Somehow, Talya knew Savoi was in Dakar. But why?
Then another of her problems emerged from Talya’s muddled thoughts. “Hassan, I am sorry to impose on your time, but I was wondering if you have been in contact with any of the landowners and …”
“Yes,” he cut-in, “I have obtained a list from Kane’s office and I have discovered…”
“What?” Talya raised an eyebrow. All I need is to learn that the Pope owns one of the properties!
Hassan, observing her bewildered face, was smiling from ear to ear now. She wasn’t.
“Well … shall we say it shall remain in the family?”
Talya was baffled. Don’t tell me… “Please don’t say that one of the proprietors is your uncle.”
Hassan broke into roaring laughter. Talya stared. She couldn’t believe it.
“No, not really my uncle, but my adoptive father,” he said between chuckles. Talya still stared. Didn’t I say that you could find a parent just by crossing the street?
“You mean of all the millions of people in this country, one of the proprietors, which have been dealing with Savoi, is your father?” She sounded as incredulous as she was.
“Yes. Now do you see why, I have to find the man? If for no other reasons than the fact that he has taken my father for a ride.”
“This is getting worse by the minute. I don’t know what to say.” Talya was truly out of excuses. They had engaged the services of a criminal, and now she had Hassan’s, and related families, hurting or possibly bent on revenge against Carmine. This was getting ridiculous, ludicrous even.
“But don’t worry,” Hassan said, seeing the consternation she felt painted across Talya’s face, “I will see to it that Carmine is not made to pay for this affront. My father is a gentle man and we will go and visit him as soon as the Kankoon application has been filed. I’m sure he will be a good emissary and pass the word to the other eleven proprietors that Carmine will make good their losses in due time…”
“Make good their losses?” Talya interrupted, aghast. “What does that mean? We have not signed on the dotted line—Savoi has, of his own accord, not with our authorization—” She was jumping the gun, as usual.
“Hold on, Talya….” Hassan was still smiling. She stared, again. “I know that you have contemplated some form of reimbursement in kind—I think is what you’ve said—so that’s what I meant by making good their losses. You’ve also mentioned that since Savoi was your agent, the responsibility befell you to see what kind of settlement could be reached with each of the proprietors. Isn’t that correct?”
“Yes, that’s what I said, as long as the settlement in question is reasonable…”
“I understand that, and believe me when I say, my father does too. He will pass the word around once he has met you and will play the role of mediator if you like.”
That sounds much better. Simmer down Talya—the man is here to help.
“That would be very helpful indeed, thank you. I’m sorry, Hassan, but I am not in the habit of reimbursing a criminal’s debts for one thing, and I often jump to conclusions when I shouldn’t.”
“Yes, I noticed that, yet I think it’s refreshing to face someone who is not afraid of the truth.” Was that a compliment? Shut up Talya!
She smiled in reply and then she saw Hassan gather his belongings, car keys and briefcase; that was her cue. It was time for them to leave.
Hassan said, “I will contact you as soon as I am free from this pre-trial and we can go over the application, and if need be, we can use my office.”
“Thank you. Yes, that will be helpful. Let me know.”
They left the restaurant saying their good-byes to Ishmael and walked through the lobby toward the front door.
Hassan turned to face her before stepping outside, and said, “Take care of yourself, I’ll be back soon. In the meantime do me a favour, keep away from anyone who could hurt you.”
“What does that mean? I won’t stay cloistered here just because Savoi is on the loose.”
“I’ll explain later, but for now just do as I ask, okay?”
“I’ll try. But I can’t promise anything.”
“All right. Just be careful, that’s all I ask…” And without another word, Hassan walked out, leaving Talya standing at the door not knowing what to make of this latest warning.

Hassan crossed the parking lot to his car. He was mindful of his last comment to Talya. Somehow, he had this ever-increasing need to protect her. He couldn’t really tell her how he felt about her. He didn’t know himself what those feelings were, not yet anyway. He knew one thing for sure, he didn’t want to see her being hurt by the likes of Savoi nor did he want her to leave without a promise or a reason to come back to Mali.
20
Talya was dreaming. There was a knock at the door. She woke up with a jerk. Another knock got her up. She looked at the clock: 4:00AM.
“What is it?” she said through the door.
“A message for you,” was the answer. A message at this time of the morning? It was late evening in Vancouver. Talya didn’t expect any message nor did she want any. She wasn’t in the best of mood when she opened the door. Standing in her face was the night watchman, a plate in hand with an envelope on it.
“Who is it from? Do you know?”
“I don’t, Madame. Someone brought this to the reception and said it was most urgent. The man gave me a good tip to bring it to you right away.” She took the envelope, grabbed her purse from its hiding place and gave the man another ‘good tip’ for delivering the message at 4:00AM.
As she closed the door, she could hear him whistle down the hall. At least he was happy. Talya wasn’t. She was puzzled. She sat on the edge of the bed, unsealed the envelope and pulled out one small sheet of paper folded in half. The message read:
Dear Madame Kartz,
I haven’t had the pleasure yet to meet you. I have some business to take care of in Dakar before I could come back to Bamako. In the meantime, I will ask you if you could send my monthly fee to the following address: Monsieur Savoi, Hotel Terranga, Dakar. I will write to you again when I receive payment. Thank you for understanding.
Yours respectfully,
Monsieur Amadou Savoi.
PS: Could you do this rapidly, please? I need the money right away to clear some pressing debts.

That does it! The guy has guts one could say that for him. What am I supposed to do with this? Savoi must be daft if he thinks I’m going to comply with such a request.
She lay down on the bed and sighed. She was unable to concentrate.
She could read this letter ten times; she still couldn’t see how someone like Savoi could write this. Savoi was shrewd, he was cunning, and he wasn’t stupid. That’s it! Talya sat up. Savoi did not write this letter. Someone like Savoi wrote it, but not Savoi. It was typed not hand-written. It wasn’t signed. The name was also typed. Looking at the letter more closely, she could see it was an original from a typewriter, not printed on a computer printer. Talya needed to know who brought the letter. Who typed it, and who was the real author? She had an idea on that point.
Someone was playing games. She needed to go to the top and work her way down the ladder of government to nip this in the bud. The wheels were turning against her will. She was losing control, again. Somehow, Rheza’s name came to mind.
Talya took a shower, washed her hair, elaborately combed it (she had an unruly mop of curls), dried it, and spent a great deal of time pampering herself. She put on her best dress, a longish white garment, specifically designed to enhance both her figure and her colouring. By 6:00AM, she was ready. She went to the restaurant. She sat at her usual table. The waiter looked at her agape. She didn’t know if he was impressed by her appearance or by the fact that she came in so early in the morning; maybe both.
He didn’t say much more than, “Good morning. Would you like some coffee?”
“Thank you,” Talya replied, “Yes, coffee is just what I need,” while he was pouring the first cup from a freshly brewed pot. Coffee is excellent in Africa, not bitter not sour, just right.
As she was buttering a croissant, the hotel manager came in.
“Good morning, Madame Kartz, how are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you, and you?” Talya looked up from her newspaper, smiling.
“Well, I’m a little annoyed with the porter. He told me he delivered a message to you at four o’clock this morning. He shouldn’t have done that.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Gerald, I was actually glad he did. The message was important.”
“I see. Anyway, I’m sorry if the boy disturbed you.”
“Not at all. Don’t worry about it … but what I’d like you to do is to get me a car with a chauffeur for 7:30 this morning. I need to get to some appointments in town early, and it’ll be easier than having to hail taxis…”
“No problem. I’ll see to it right away. Enjoy your breakfast…” And he was gone.
By this time, other people had come in and the place looked as busy as usual. Talya ate, worked her way through the crossword puzzle, and pondered the day ahead.
21
Rheza picked up the receiver distractedly. She had arrived in Dakar the previous night after an exhausting drive from Bamako. Her uncle had told her to come and join him—something to do with signing documents for this new deal—but the call had been cut short before Amadou Savoi could tell her where he was staying. He said something about the Terranga...
“Madame McLean?”
“Yes. Who’s this?”
“My name is Abdul Rasheed, Madame McLean. Your uncle asked me to call you.”
“Where is he? Who are you?”
“He has been called away on business. Nothing to worry about.”
“But, I am worried, Monsieur Rasheed. Where is he? Why doesn’t he call me himself?”
“He came to Dakar—”
“I know that, but where in Dakar?” Rheza was getting irritated. She didn’t like the sound of the man’s voice.
“Oh, I thought you knew. He was staying at the Hotel Terranga.”
“No. I don’t believe you. When I phoned the Terranga this morning, they told me they had no one registered there—”
“He must have checked out… As I told you there is nothing to worry about—your uncle is fine…”
“I am staying with a cousin, but I was going to…”
“Yes,” Rasheed cut-in with annoyance, “that’s what I gathered since your uncle gave me your number.”
Rheza was on the verge of hysteria; she had no idea where her uncle was. The man on the line was lying, and why was he calling her?
“Monsieur Rasheed… why … why did you say that my uncle was staying at the Terranga? Where is he? Why isn’t he calling me himself?” she insisted.
“Well…, dear lady….” He hesitated. “Your uncle has been called away on business and he wanted me to let you know that he is okay.”
“Away on business? Where?”
“If you like, I’ll take you there.”
“Take me there? Why?”
“Madame McLean, let’s have no more question shall we? You want to find your uncle. I know where he is. So do you want to see him or don’t you?”
“Of course I do, but…”
“I tell you what, you come to the Terranga and I’ll take you to him.”
“When?”
“Let’s say tomorrow, at 11:00.”
“Sure, but…”
“I’ll see you at 11:00 tomorrow morning then. Have a good night.”
Abdul Rasheed hung up before Rheza could say another word or ask another question.
What was her uncle up to? What was going on? Who was this Rasheed person?

22
At 7:30, the car was in front of the door. Talya greeted the chauffeur and gave him instructions. They drove for about thirty minutes before arriving at her destination. Her first port-of-call was in the Ministry of Mines’ building.
In every African city, and along the walls of every governmental or commercial office structure, there are a hundred people, if not more, hanging around, waiting for who knows what. This building was no exception. Located in the business district of the city, it was a rectangular edifice a half block long and ten stories high, whitewashed and with no readily visible entrance. The square windows, recessed from the façade gave it the look of a square-holed block of Swiss cheese. The parking lot was dedicated to the Ministers’ cars only. No visitors’ car allowed, the sign said. The chauffeur let her out between two Mercedes near the door marked ‘Entrance’. Inside, on the ground floor there was a set of elevators and a stairwell beside them. People coming and going down the corridors and up-and-down stairs bothered her. Talya was on edge and she didn’t relish the prospect of having to push or shove her way through these corridors or into an elevator.
She looked at the directory board, which told her the building housed three other Ministries besides the one she was looking for. She took the first available elevator to the fourth floor. She walked down the interminable hallway to one of the doors, which indicated she had arrived at her destination.
With purposeful strides, averting her eyes from anyone’s gaze and without knocking even, she walked straight into the Minister of Mines’ office, totally ignoring the guard and the secretary who tried in vain to stop her. She was in a bad mood and getting worse. It was a good thing she was in an African Islamic country—the guard could not have laid a finger on her without facing severe reprisals.
The man inside the office stood up and told his excited secretary at the door, “It’s all right, Suzanne, please leave us and bring some coffee will you? The lady retreated, embarrassed and thoroughly bewildered.
To her the Minister said, “Madame Kartz, I presume?” Here we go again, with the Dr. Livingston bit.... Talya smiled inwardly. But how did he know who I am? Never mind that. Talya had no intention to dwell on such trivia at this point.
“Yes, Monsieur le Ministre, in the flesh.” They shook hands and he invited her to sit down in one of the overstuffed leather chairs furnishing part of his manly office. He sat opposite Talya. He was a tall, black man, extremely well groomed. His tranquil eyes and grey hair accentuated the impression he gave of serenity and sagacity. He had the presence and the dignity required of his position and the well-spoken, well-mannered attitude of the learned man that he probably was.
Once the civilities were over, Talya began with her little speech. “I was awoken this morning at four o’clock by the porter at the hotel carrying this message.” Talya handed him the letter she had received some four hours before. She waited until he finished reading the few lines of it.
“I do not appreciate receiving such notices from anyone in the first place,” she said with all the annoyance that she felt in her voice. “I do not usually comply with requests of this sort, in any case. But in this instance, Monsieur le Ministre, I’m most concerned…” She went on with her narration.
Talya assumed that the bureaucrats behind this Minister were not informing him as well as they should have done. She was certain they would not have given him any of the details, which would possibly tarnish their reputation and endanger their future as government employees. Talya, on the other hand, had nothing to lose by telling this Minister her version of the events, providing him with all of the details he may have wanted or needed to render a decision in Carmine’s favour.
She ended her story by saying, “Yes, in fact, I’m somehow concerned about Monsieur Savoi’s safety on the one hand, and I’m quite annoyed, to put it mildly, by the way he obviously used some of my company’s funds.”
The somewhat putout Suzanne chose this moment to knock at the door before walking in with a tray of coffee and an assortment of biscuits. She poured a cup for each the Minister and Talya and retreated again quietly. Until now, the Minister had respectfully kept silent while listening attentively to Talya’s tale. He looked ill at ease as he moved forward to get his cup of coffee from the tray. He probably wondered how he was going to get rid of this unexpected guest without consequences.
“Madame Kartz. I very much regret what is happening to you and to your company. However, I have no direct recourse to such policing matters. Monsieur Savoi is known in this department. His actions are straying from the strict legal path, and I will do whatever I can to bring your suspicions to the attention of the authorities.” Somehow Talya doubted that. He drank a little from his cup and continued. “I have a duty toward your company, however. I will review your application for the Kankoon permit personally, and speed up its processing so this part of the affair shouldn’t be a burden to you anymore. You ask Maitre Sangor to get in touch with our director and together they should be able to take care of the matter fairly quickly, one way or the other.”
He managed to appease Talya’s anger a little. She was still annoyed with Savoi and she wanted to have an answer to only one question: where is the bastard?
The Minister finished his coffee and Talya started on hers. They made small talk and she obtained the names of some people, he said, who could help her find the culprit, or was it the victim now? Talya wondered.
A half-an-hour later, she was back in the car asking Moïse, the chauffeur, to take her to her second call for the day: Maitre Sangor’s office.
Pushing the heavy wooden door, Talya entered her attorney’s law practice. It was located near one of the corners of a busy intersection, among government buildings and along a tree-lined avenue, which led outside of town.
When she saw Talya and realized who she was, his secretary’s mouth fell open. She was cute as a doll in a toyshop. She had lovely dark eyes and an impish, mischievous smile. Her head of soft curls would have been the wonder of any hairdresser anywhere in the world. Amid the curls, there were a couple of little bows made of the same fabric as her dress, a green satin gown with silver threads.
“Madame Kartz? That’s right isn’t it? You are Madame Kartz? Maitre described you …”
“Yes, I am, and you are?”
“Daphne, Madame Kartz. Please, please sit down. I’ll tell Maitre you’re in.” She dialled the intercom and Talya went to take a seat on one of the visitors’ chairs opposite her desk.
The décor was that of any well-to-do law offices in this part of the world. At first glance, it inspired respectability and efficiency. It was furnished with beautifully carved African redwood furniture. Oriental carpets covered some of the slate floor, and computer monitors stood on every desk. Beige metal file cabinets lined part of the walls. There were comfortable seating arrangements in a corner, while the light from the overhead neon fixtures was soft and easy on the eyes. By Bamako standards, this was a very nice office indeed.
Hassan rushed out of his office, came down the corridor, almost running.
As Talya stood up to greet him, he took her hand in both of his. “Are you all right, anything wrong? What are you doing here so early?” His voice was shaking.
“Yes, yes, and here is the answer to your third question.” She handed him the letter. He read it where he stood.
A frown came across his brow. “At what time did you receive this?”
“Four o’clock this morning.”
“Come in my office, please. We need to clear this up, right away.”
Talya nodded and followed him down the hallway to his office. She sat down in one of the chairs he indicated as they came in. The furnishing was sober and elegant, as he was. His Law Degree hung well in evidence on the wall opposite from where she sat. The wide mahogany work-table barely noticeable under piles of documents and files, the two bookcases, overflowing with volumes of jurisprudence and European literature, and the three chairs were the only pieces of furniture in this rather large room. Hassan sat behind his desk and read the letter aloud this time. He stopped. A few moments were spent in silence.
He lifted his head. “I would have to say this letter adds another dimension to our problem. We have to consider its meaning as well as what Savoi is trying to achieve by sending this message to you now. As for the letter itself, do you think it’s genuine?”
“No. I don’t think so. Look at it and tell me what you see,” Talya replied matter-of-factly.
“Well, he could have typed it himself, or dictated it to someone close to him or even have it done at the business centre at the Terranga hotel.”
“Yes, everything you’ve just mentioned is a possibility in itself. But I’ve stayed at the Terranga and I know they’re using computers at the business centre, not typewriters. This letter has been typed on an old mechanical typewriter, not on an electronic one and this is not a computer printout. And another thing; look at how regular and even the imprint of each letter is. That means it’s been typed by a two-finger-typist—or someone pretending to be an untrained typist—not by a touch-typist. The touch-typist uses every finger of both hands and some fingers are less powerful than others, leaving a lesser imprint on the paper. This is not the case here. Every letter is evenly imprinted onto the sheet. If anything, Savoi may have typed it himself, but then, why not sign it? It would have added weight to the request, credibility as it were. What’s more, why is he asking to be paid at a hotel in Dakar, when making a transfer to his bank account would have been much quicker? He could have access to the funds faster that way.”
To Hassan, the woman’s insight was amazing. Talya’s clear mind and deductive powers was definitely an added attraction to him. She was not only beautiful, with hair as blond as the rising sunlight, but her intelligence and astuteness shone through her words.
“I see what you mean.” He had listened to Talya quietly. He now sat up and rested his elbows on the desk.
“But if everything you said is true, then who did write this note?”
“Rheza,” Talya said, trying to be convincing. “...Although she’s an accomplished typist.”
Hassan stood up and started pacing the floor behind her. While sitting somewhat impatiently, Talya looked absentmindedly at the carpet beneath her feet. It must have cost him a fortune. It was a Chinese silk rug. It covered the best part of the floor. The man was not doing too badly was he? In fact, he must be very well off.
A few minutes later, and instantly bringing Talya down to the more modest reality of their troublesome situation, Hassan put both his hands on the back of her chair saying; “Let’s go, Talya, we have places to go, things to do.” This man had the knack for throwing surprises at her.
She rose and turned to face him. “Hold on a moment. I have a car and a chauffeur outside. What do you propose I do with him?”
“Just send him back to the hotel and if you need him this afternoon, you can always call him back.”
What am I supposed to say now? She wasn’t about to argue. She had to resign herself to the fact that she had lost another fight for control of the situation.
On their way out, Hassan grabbed his jacket, a couple of files, which he slid into his briefcase and left instructions with Daphne, telling her he wouldn’t be back that day.
In the parking lot, Moïse was expecting Talya. She told him to go back to the Grand and wait for her there. She gave him a handsome tip for his trouble. He was a trustworthy young man. Talya knew he would go places in the world. He thanked her profusely and assured her that he would be waiting for her at the Grand in case Talya needed his services later during the day.
As Talya sat on the passenger seat of Hassan’s car, he held the door opened, peered down at her, and quietly said, “I think I’ll stay with you at the hotel tonight,” and closed the door.
Talya just sat there, dazed. Why would he want to do that? There was no need for her to have someone watching over her. There was nothing to worry about, or was there? Her imagination was running in all directions once again. And where does he think he is going to sleep?
Yesterday, Hassan had left her with a word of warning—‘do be careful’. Today he was intending to spend the night at the Grand—what was this?
He sat at the wheel and turned the key in the ignition.
She turned her face to him. “Where are we going?”
“Mohammed Fade’s office.” Hassan reversed the car out of the parking lot.
“Why?” Talya asked.
“Mohammed has a lot of clout in this town. He is a respected member of this community. If anyone can help, it would be him.”
“Yes, I know he has some pull in this country, but what about in Senegal?”
“It doesn’t make a bit of difference; when it comes to Mohammed’s contacts, you’d be surprised.”
“I hate to rain on your parade, but why do you want to bother? Savoi is gone and now Rheza has probably decided to follow him. So why do we have to bother with these two any more? As far as I’m concerned that chapter is closed.”
Hassan turned to her and smiled. “I thought we had decided to find out who was behind Savoi’s escapade and why, or did you forget? We’ve got to find Savoi and why he has decided to go to Dakar all of a sudden, because we need to clear Carmine’s name, so you can get your Kankoon permit, or don’t we?”
“Maybe that won’t be necessary now.” Talya told Hassan about her visit to the Minister and his readiness to help them in channelling the Kankoon application.
Hassan smiled again and shook his head. “The Minister would have said anything just to get rid of you. He doesn’t like to be mixed up in his department’s dissensions. He prefers not to know about them. I tell you, you need to prove that Savoi has committed a criminal offence, such as bribing government officials or embezzling funds, before the Kankoon permit can be awarded to Carmine.” At these words, he returned his attention to the traffic.
23
They arrived in front of the primature before Talya knew it. Hassan parked the car in front of the door as Rheza had done some days earlier. The heat in that parking lot was still as enveloping as it had been then.
Hassan knocked. While they were uncomfortably roasting in front of the prime minister’s counsellor’s office, a small, sombre-looking man opened the door, finally. He did not smile, did not utter a word, just waved them in the direction of the seats opposite the desk and walked out.
Mohammed Fade was on the phone. He, too, waved to them to sit, but he was smiling. They went and sat down and waited for the conversation to come to a close. Observing people when they’re on the phone is really a learning experience. The counsellor’s allure was casual and nonchalant. His body language, however, demonstrated the self-assurance of a man who knows exactly what he wanted out of life, and got it.
Once he put the receiver down, he swivelled his chair to face them. Talya couldn’t tell if he was surprised or bothered to see them, but he greeted them with courtesy and what Talya thought was a certain dose of restraint. Hassan said a few words in Bambara and handed him the letter. Mohammed Fade frowned. He perused the piece of paper and asked Talya if she kept the envelope.
“Yes I have.” She produced it from her purse. “Here it is.”
He took it from her, looked at it and shook his head. He must have noticed, as Talya did, it wasn’t post-marked. Then he said, “Madame Kartz, I know Amadou Savoi fairly well and when I read this I have to wonder why he wrote to you at all. Presumably, he’s gone into hiding taking with him the left over of Carmine’s funds. I don’t see him writing you a note telling you where he is in the first place, and asking you to cover his expenses. It doesn’t make sense. Do you think he wrote this note?”
“No, I don’t think he wrote it,” Talya replied, “I think Rheza did,” and gave him an explanation as to why she thought Rheza wrote the message.
Monsieur Fade nodded, a concerned frown crossing his brow. “This is very disturbing news. I can only say if in fact Rheza wrote this letter, she must have done so under some sort of duress. What I don’t understand is that she usually comes to me with her problems, or if she needed money, which is not likely, because her husband left her quite comfortably off. Anyway, I haven’t heard from her since she was here with you last week. I really don’t know what to make of this.” He looked at Hassan and Talya expectantly.
“You know, I don’t think she wrote this letter under duress,” Hassan said. “I think, on this occasion, she was afraid to come to you for help, because she knew how you would react. She knew you would have told her that her place was here with the children and that she shouldn’t be going after her uncle. I’m quite sure she’s gone already.”
“Yes, that’s seems obvious. But why would she ask for money?”
Hassan reclined in the seat and folded his arms over his chest. “Maybe she had enough money to take the trip, but she didn’t have enough to stay in Dakar where she probably doesn’t know anyone who could take her in.”
Monsieur Fade shook his head. “No, I think she has enough funds available to her to stay where ever she pleases. Besides, we have some distant cousins in Dakar and she may have decided to stay with one of them—which one is the question.”
“Do you have any of their phone numbers?” Hassan’s voice sounded somewhat anxious.
“No. It’s been ages since we’ve spoken.” The counsellor opened a drawer in front of him and pulled out the famous address book. “Let me see if I can call someone in Dakar. Maybe somebody has seen her or my brother-in-law.”
When he found what he was looking for, he picked up the phone and asked his secretary (in Bambara) to put him through to Dakar to a person whose name Talya didn’t quite catch. Somehow, it sounded very familiar. Maybe she was mistaken.
Hassan and Talya sat in silence while the counsellor talked to the party, in Arabic this time. It was strange. She had a feeling of dejà-vu. Monsieur Fade hung up and turned around, once again facing them, his eyes resting on Talya. For some reason, he looked undecided or embarrassed.
A few seconds passed before he said, “I’ve just talked to Abdul Rasheed in Dakar…”
“Abdul Rasheed?” Talya snapped, amazed. “Is he in business with a Monsieur Hjamal?”
“Yes, that’s him, do you know him?”
“No, not personally. I’ve never met him. We only spoke on the phone a couple of times regarding Monsieur Hjamal’s affairs. But what has he got to do with Monsieur Savoi?”
Monsieur Fade looked definitely putout by Talya’s rudeness.
She quickly apologized. “But I’m sorry, I’ve cut you off, please go on.”
“As I was saying, I was talking to Abdul Rasheed in regards to my niece and Amadou Savoi’s whereabouts. He has a lot of contacts in Dakar and he’s offered to help us, if we make it worth his while.”
“What!” Talya said eyebrows arched in utter bafflement. This time she couldn’t contain herself. “Did I understand you correctly? Abdul Rasheed wants money to locate your brother-in-law and your niece?”
“Yes. That’s what his offer amounted to, yes,” the counsellor replied quietly. Seeing her outrage, he tried to explain, “But, Madame Kartz …” She didn’t let him.
“No, Monsieur Fade, enough is enough.” She had about as much as she could take. No more. She was enraged beyond control. She could have thrown something at him. The thought of being asked for money to find a man who had stolen a half-a-million dollars from her company was a lot more than Talya could handle at that particular moment.
She looked at Hassan and said, “I think we should go. We have nothing more to discuss.”
She got up and turned to face an indignant counsellor. “I know you are trying to help. But right now, I don’t think finding Monsieur Savoi is a priority and as for Rheza’s covert request, whether or not she’s in Dakar, I will let you know what I’ve decided as soon as I know myself.”
Talya was terribly upset, but she thanked their host for seeing them and walked to the door of his office. Hassan, who appeared dumfounded, said nothing more than a courteous good-bye to his friend.
When they got back to the car, Talya said, “I’ve had it. I can’t see any reason for me to stay in Bamako any longer than necessary.” She stopped, her mouth emitting some sort of disagreeable groan. “In fact, I’ll just stay long enough to complete the application for the Kankoon permit and take the next flight home. You can continue searching for Savoi if you want, and prove whatever it is you want to prove, I don’t care!”
Hassan’s expression was unfeeling, his gaze reproving. His hands were gripping the steering wheel. He drove Talya back to the hotel without a word. His silence did nothing to abate Talya’s irate thoughts.
When they reached the Grand, he opened the car door for her and said, “I’ll see you later.”
“Any time … And thanks for the ride!” Wow, was she upset!
In the lobby the clerk called after her, maybe there were some messages…. She didn’t want to know. She ignored him and went to her room. She undressed, took a shower, threw a bathrobe over her wet body and tried to make sense out of this insanity.
She didn’t want to call Vancouver yet. She wanted to be able to provide James with a summary of the situation in a cool and collected manner. However, she was far from being cool and collected at that moment—more like a lion in a cage needing a feed.
She tried to turn her mind to something else, but Hassan’s change of attitude toward her was insidiously continuing to permeate her thoughts. The man had been unable to take her reaction for what it was, just a reaction to an unrealistic proposition. He seemed to be shocked by the fact that Talya was angry at his friend’s suggestion. He must have known that abusing her kindness or willingness to help, would not sit very well with her, under any circumstance. What’s more, for someone of Fade’s standing to have the gall of suggesting that she pay someone yet again to find a rip-off artist, was beyond her, not to mention that the proposed investigator was Abdul Rasheed. Once again, she felt extremely uncomfortable at the mere thought of this man’s name.
She decided she needed a break from this hassle. She had to do something to get away. She needed to escape. Yet, she had nowhere to go, or did she? Perhaps, she should seriously consider going home. No. That would be backing down and admit defeat on all fronts. It was too early to do that.
She went to the balcony and watched the traffic below go by, much like a cow would watch the train rolling down the tracks. She chewed the cud and so did Talya.
The fog of anger and confusion slowly lifted after a while, giving way to some clearer thoughts. Maybe there was a connection between Rasheed, Hjamal and Savoi, but what connection? Talya couldn’t very well go back to Monsieur Fade and ask him, now could she? The only obvious link between the three men was the location—Dakar. Maybe that’s where I should go? And, where is Rheza now? In Dakar also … but, she didn’t want to worry about her. She was no longer her problem, or so Talya thought.
All the while, these irritating feelings drew Talya back to Hassan’s conduct. His silence during the drive back to the hotel had unnerved her. He had made no comments about her outburst in Fade’s office. He stoically sat there and said nothing. Why was that? Granted his face had clearly shown the depth of his embarrassment and his utmost displeasure at Talya’s behaviour. Yet, why on earth didn’t he say something? Mohammed Fade was his friend. Why then didn’t he come out and say it: “Talya you were a fool …” or some such thing? Perhaps, she should call him and try getting some reaction from him? Talya’s answer was, no, she shouldn’t. She was tired of arguing with herself and building a house of cards based on pure conjectures. Whatever she should do next wasn’t clear at all. Talk about muddied waters. She concluded that she would need to do a lot more cud chewing and keep on watching a lot more traffic go by before making any decision.
24
Once he left Talya in front of the Grand, Hassan drove for a couple of hours before deciding to go down to the Niger River. He was at a loss for words. What was the woman thinking? There were so many things he would have liked to say and yet the words didn’t come out when he was looking into her eyes. He struggled to come to terms with what happened. Where could he go? What could he do to ease the strain?
Hassan was thoroughly annoyed with Talya, and yet, at the moment, to contemplate her leaving was even more frustrating than dealing with her staying in town.
When he arrived at the riverbank, he parked the car, got out and ran down the levee trying not to slip over the pebbles rolling ahead of him. The air was almost fresh. The wind swept through the valley creating a pleasant mini-climate. At the water’s edge, Hassan squatted and tried to calm down. He was incensed and in some curious way excited. It was an excitement and irritation similar to what he had experienced often before entering a courtroom, some sort of apprehensive tension disrupting his capacity to focus.
Why didn’t he say anything to Talya? He had told her he would stay with her that night, but here he was, far away from her, as far as he could possibly have gone. Talya had done the wrong thing. She had been disrespectful toward a friend. That was a totally unacceptable behaviour on the part of a woman. Hassan couldn’t reconcile his resentment of her bad manners with his budding feelings of love for her. Love, for the first time he permitted himself to acknowledge the possibility of that feeling. He thought of Talya and what he knew, or rather thought he knew of her.
Although she had been brought up in a Muslim school, this North American way of hers seemed void of emotions save those of rage. Even though he could understand her reaction when asked to pay someone to find the very person responsible for her company losing a half-a-million dollars, he couldn’t relate to Talya’s total disregard for Mohammed’s feelings.
It had been obvious to Hassan that his friend was more concerned for Rheza’s well being than he was about finding Savoi. Talya had not even shown any consideration for Rheza’s predicament. Hassan couldn’t accept that either. When it came to friendship or family, Hassan was always ready to listen even if he thought the proposal unreasonable. He had a hard time subduing his desire to walk away from it all. Something stronger than his will power, however, admonished him for even thinking of leaving Talya to her own device.
What was Talya going to do now? Was she going to leave? Was she going to fly home, as she said she would? Was she deciding on some other plans? A swirl of questions roamed around Hassan’s mind. Perhaps, he hadn’t been fair. Maybe, he should have stayed with her as he planned. At least he would know what she had in mind. It seemed his greatest fear was to be realized, Talya would leave—and he wouldn’t be there to prevent her from getting away from him so soon.
Hassan stood up, collected some little stones, threw them right back and watched them ricochet on the surface of the water. It was an aimless gesture, but everything he was doing now appeared to be aimed at nothing. He looked up to the skies stretching above the horizon. The sun was nearly setting.
He must go to the mosque and pray, he told himself. Allah would give him the guidance he needed. His faith—that was another thing, which troubled him about Talya—he was a child of Islam. He needed to think if his love for Talya (or was it just infatuation?) would ever alter his beliefs. He had grown up in the Muslim faith ever since his father passed away. Before that, he could not say that his mother brought him up in her faith—he remembered very little about it. In fact, Hassan could not remember if his mother had ever practiced her faith, neither could he remember if she had converted to Islam before marrying his father. All he really knew was that he adored her.
All of his life Hassan had wanted to be close to a white woman—like his mother. Perhaps that was the reason for his attraction to Talya.
As he walked along the water’s edge, he kept on thinking, kept on reflecting and just kept on going nowhere. Nightfall was approaching and he needed to get back to town. He wanted to go back to the office—not to the mosque, not for the moment at least. He wanted to know if Mohammed had called. Suddenly he longed for company.
He returned to the top of the embankment and got into his car. He had not resolved anything but he was sure now of one thing: he wanted to make love to Talya. He had to find out if it was infatuation or love, that he felt for her and he had to come out with it. After all, she is white and probably promiscuous as most white American women generally are.
He was torn between ambivalent thoughts. He had been taught that if the woman accepted him he would need to show her the respect she would deserve and marry her in the end. Despite the fact that Talya was white and that he yearned for the taste of white flesh, Hassan couldn’t accept such a proposition—marriage… No, not now, not ever maybe, and not with Talya! Yet he wanted her, he needed her. Above all, he needed to tell her how he felt. The thought frightened him. He was afraid of her reaction. Would she even listen to him?
Feasting on fantasy, Hassan drove back to town and arrived at the office to find the door closed and everyone gone. It was not surprising since the hour drew late already. He went in and checked his messages—nothing from Talya, of course not. Nothing from Mohammed; he must be upset. Oh yes, Mohammed would be angry about Talya’s outburst that morning. However, Mohammed could wait. Hassan needed to get to Talya. He needed to tell her that he wanted her. He knew he was heading for trouble.
He could stay for the night at the hotel. No, Talya wouldn’t let him, and he knew that, too. Hassan went out again, got behind the wheel and drove toward the city. Like a thirst to be quenched, he could not reach the oasis fast enough. He practically ran over a pedestrian near the market, went through red lights and arrived at the Grand.
He parked the car and walked in. He went directly to the desk asking Monsieur Dia if Talya was in. The clerk told him that Madame Kartz was in the lounge and perhaps he would care to join her. All of a sudden, his rush and desire fled, leaving only apprehension and fear. What was she going to say? Was she alone? What was his pretext for barging in? Was he supposed to be the friend now or the lawyer? He muttered some thank-you to the clerk, hesitated a moment and walked toward the lounge. The door opened and Talya appeared as if nothing happened, book in hand, shoulder bag in place and looking determined as ever. Hassan stopped. Unable to smile, he stood frozen.
Talya came closer, and in a fraction of a second she was there looking up at him. Hassan opened his mouth; yet he could not say anything. The words were stuck in his throat.
Astonished to seeing him standing there, Talya said, “Hassan, what are you doing here? I thought you were so upset this morning you wouldn’t want to speak to me ever again. Really, I’m sorry for what happened. I should have known better than to confront Monsieur Fade like that. He was only doing what he thought was best …” She didn’t stop talking.
Hassan didn’t hear a word she said. He was completely mesmerized.
Come on man, say something.
“I don’t know!” he uttered at last.
25
“What do you mean, you don’t know? What don’t you know?”
Talya was so amazed at seeing Hassan standing there; questions tumbled out of her mouth and replies were indeed needed—right now.
Of course, he had been offended. Of course, he couldn’t understand Talya’s outburst in Mohammed’s office. Then, why didn’t he ask the questions which were begging for answers?
“I was asking you what you’re doing here, and you said you didn’t know. Well? Let’s go to the lounge, sit down and talk about this, shall we?”
Hassan stared and remained mute as a carp. He didn’t move either.
“What happened, Hassan? Is there something you wanted to tell me? Come on, let’s go in and sit down. We can’t just stand here in the doorway.”
Eventually, Hassan seemed to hear what Talya was saying. He opened the door to the lounge mechanically. He held it open. They went in and sat down. They sat facing each other and Talya waited for an answer, or a comment, or anything which would indicate that his brain was not totally frozen. The drinks came and she continued waiting.
After a short while, he took a sip of the juice and he seemed to come down to earth.
At last, he said, “Talya, the reason why I’m here is not important. What is important is that I’m here. I needed to be here.” In his usual fashion, he bent forward and put his elbows on his knees. “And yes, something happened this afternoon, to me personally. It has nothing to do with the Savoi affair. What happened isn’t about business. It’s about us, about you and me.”
What on earth is he talking about? What is this ‘us’ business?
He drank some more. He was hesitant, as if he were in two minds as to what he wanted to say next. He took a deep breath, stretched to the back of the seat and went on, “I know I’m not a young man anymore and you may resent every word I’m going to say to you, but just hear me out. I need to tell you this. Perhaps it isn’t a good time but never may be a good time and never won’t do as far as I’m concerned—”
Talya cut him off at the fork. “Hassan, I’ve been here for a week and a lot has occurred during that time—”
He held out a hand to stop her talking. “I know that, Talya, but you’ve been saying to everyone who wants to hear it that you’re leaving. So, I didn’t think I had time to spare in letting you know how I feel about you and I don’t think I can keep my emotions in check for very much longer. I need to know what you would say, think or do, if I told you I was falling in love with you!”
You could have knocked her out for the count—it wouldn’t have given her a stronger shock than that declaration. Talya was still miles behind, like the caboose of a runaway train. She was lagging, dragging at a distance in the foggiest of notions that she cared for Hassan. Nowhere was there a port-of-call named ‘love’ in the stormy seas of her emotions at that moment. Hassan’s announcement threw her totally off balance. She didn’t know anything about the man; or he about her, as far as she knew, and here he was declaring his love for her. What should her reaction be?
It was Talya’s turn to be silent, to be staring at him. He was smiling. He knew he had given her a jolt. His smirk was one of self-satisfaction. She wondered what he wanted her to say. Never mind that, she had to say something.
“Hassan, I don’t really know what to say.” Gees, what a reply! How inane can you be? Talya smiled back. She was embarrassed. Being at a loss for words was not customary for her. She was evading the question. She didn’t want to answer. Talya wasn’t ready to respond to a declaration of love from this man.
“I’ve spent the day planning for an early departure, you’re right. But don’t worry I’m not going home.” She lowered her eyes. “I’ve decided to go to Dakar. I’ve phoned my office in Vancouver and they think it’s a good idea for me to go to Senegal to try talking to Monsieur Hjamal, and perhaps start some form of negotiations with him. I’ll leave when I can be assured the Kankoon application has been introduced properly, and not before.” She drank a little of her juice under Hassan’s quizzical gaze. “I also need to go back and see Monsieur Fade to apologize for my conduct this morning. I know he’s your friend, but apart from that, I mustn’t let my feelings get the better of me.” There was a pause then; a moment to ponder what had passed between them.
“Talya, I want to talk to you privately. I don’t want to talk about business anymore, not today—not ever again—until we have settled a few personal matters. Come with me, I’ll take you to have a meal somewhere quiet, would you mind?”
Talya looked at him, taken aback by his request. I couldn’t get away, could I? She needed to deal with this. They left the hotel quietly.
As they reached the car, Talya said, “Please, forgive me, but I’m not good at expressing my feelings and I must warn you, I’ll try to evade the subject again and again.”
“Will you just do what you’re told, for once? Please, get in the car and let’s go to the restaurant. In the meantime don’t say anything.” Hassan was determined to keep her mouth shut, for a while anyway.
The restaurant was a cosy little place, hidden from the main road by tall hedges and trees. As they came in, Talya was agreeably surprised by the peacefulness of the surroundings. There were old woodcarvings leaning against the wall around the foyer, large slabs of slate tiled the floor, the light was dim and the air comfortably cool. They were ushered to a table in a corner, far from the main dining room, such as Talya heard Hassan request when they arrived.
They hardly looked at the menu. They looked at each other. The waiter came to the table and asked if they wanted to taste some of the Chef’s specialties. Hassan told him they wanted a simple meal and a salad. In Mali, as almost everywhere in Africa, when you ask for a ‘simple meal’ it usually consists of rice simmered in a spicy sauce made with meat or fish and vegetables.
That choice sounded perfect. It was all Talya needed. She hadn’t eaten much throughout the day and she really couldn’t be bothered with anything complicated; and certainly not under these circumstances. The waiter brought their drinks to the table and Hassan prompted him to disappear so they would no longer be disturbed.
He fiddled with the cutlery. He folded and unfolded the napkin, apparently deciding how to start or perhaps searching for the right words to say. “Talya, I can’t believe what I’m about to tell you nor will I believe it for a long while to come. My whole world has been revolving around you since we’ve met. I can’t get you out of my mind.” The napkin was now folded into a tiny square. “This is very unusual for me and this afternoon I decided enough was enough. I could no longer be a slave of my thoughts. I have to tell you about the upheaval that I’m experiencing.” The fork changed place with the knife and then the spoon was relegated to the top of the plate. Talya looked at the items being moved about the table, trying to focus on what Hassan was saying—it was hard. “I need to say these things and tell you face to face how much I’ve been disturbed by your presence. When I say it’s ‘love’ I feel for you, I don’t know for a fact that it is. I only know I cannot let you leave without having said these words to you and perhaps act upon them.”
“Act upon them?” He had her full attention now. “What do you mean—act upon them?” Talya blurted. She was astonished. Of course, I know very well what he meant!
“What I mean, Talya, is…” Their meal arrived. Talya could have kicked the waiter to the third planet beyond the moon. “What I mean is,” Hassan continued, “I have to demonstrate to you and to myself that my emotions are real. Or maybe this is just a passing fancy, which will only be extinguished if I made love to you!”
Good Grief! Making love to me!? Oh no, we are not going there … not anytime soon.
“Hassan, please, stop right there. You’re going much too fast for me. In the domain of love and loving someone, I haven’t been very successful. The last time I loved someone it ended up in a divorce. I really cannot see myself making love to you, or anyone for that matter, for the mere reason that my would-be partner needs to test his emotions or feelings toward me.” Talya was getting a little more than agitated—try on offended for size.
“Talya, don’t demean what I’ve said. It won’t work. I’ve told you, I’m falling in love with you, but I’m only honest with you and with myself. You’ve said you’re ready to leave. So I have to put it to you as plainly as I know how. Will you love me in return?”
Talya sat there, playing with the food on her plate. She wasn’t looking at him. She couldn’t. She was trapped. She realized that she needed to uncork that bottle of emotions she had been carrying for far too long. She, too, felt something for Hassan, and she had a hard time denying it, even to herself. Was she also falling for a man she didn’t know a week ago? An African man; as impossible as she thought it could be, she was attracted to him. What do I do now?
African people are known for their momentary passion. When their excitement abates, they leave for other realms, their lover dealing with the heartbreak. Talya didn’t want that to happen to her. She needed to guard herself against Hassan’s obvious infatuation.
“I have a confession to make, Hassan. I’ve never loved a black man before. I’m not saying I love you,” she muttered, almost inaudibly. “I’m only saying it all seems strange to me. I don’t know how to handle this. It’s all very awkward, very embarrassing even…. You haven’t thought this matter through, have you?” That was obvious.
“No, I haven’t. I feel strongly about you. I needed to tell you, that’s all.”
They continued eating in silence. For the next few minutes, the quietness was soothing. It was a stifling blanket thrown over the kindled fire in their hearts. Talya finished her meal and looked for the waiter to bring her a coffee; I am not going to sleep tonight anyway, and a glass of water. Hassan asked for the traditional tea.
Tea and coffee arrived unnoticed. They were peering into their souls. They needed to reach for the shore away from these stormy waters.
Then slowly amid the stillness that seemed to surround them, the barriers began to crumble. For a fleeting moment only—an instant really—nothing appeared to be more important than for Hassan and Talya to be together. I am not ready for any of this; I don’t think I would ever be.
They remained silent for a few minutes until, unexpectedly, Hassan stretched his hand across the table and touched hers. He smiled gently—a peaceful, soft smile. Talya could only return the smile leaving her hand where it was. Again, for a fraction of a second, nothing seemed important except what they felt.
As the evening drew rapidly to an end, they left the restaurant chatting about nothing in particular while Hassan kept evading the subject of ‘us’, for which Talya was glad. He drove to the front of the hotel doors, apparently wanting to drop her off. Yet, Talya was the one who didn’t want the evening to end.
“Wouldn’t you like to come in for a night-cap?”
“But I thought—”
“Nothing doing, Hassan, you don’t just leave me like this, after everything you’ve said tonight. We need to talk about this.”
“All right then, but I can’t stay for long.”
“What? Have you got a wife waiting for you at home?”
He laughed. “No, I don’t, I’ve never been married.”
Talya got out and he went to park the car while she went to the reception desk and checked with Monsieur Gerald for messages. There was none.
While she was waiting for Hassan in the lobby, Talya made a beeline to the ladies’ room. When she came out, she saw Hassan head for the boys’ room—I guess ‘relief’ had been in order.
They went to the lounge and ordered another coffee for Talya and another tea for Hassan from the ever so keen waiter—he had been standing by the table as they sat down.
As difficult as it were at the moment, Talya needed to put on the brakes. This was not a passing train that she was watching from a distance, it was running away and she was on it trying to hold on for dear life. She felt she shouldn’t have invited him in and yet…
She looked at Hassan sitting opposite her. He seemed pensive and expectant. She decided not only to apply the brakes, but also to bring his idea of a relationship between them to a full stop.
“Hassan, have you considered the consequences of us becoming involved?” His eyes went from her face to the floor. She pressed on, “Because, as you can appreciate, I can’t risk having a relationship with you in this city when all eyes are upon me to see how I handle myself while your people decide if respect and trust could eventually be given to me.” The coffee and tea arrived in time for Talya to take a breather. Hassan stirred his tea and poured a little into the cup without a word.
She went on, “You must also realize that you’re putting yourself in virtually the same position. You can’t be my attorney or legal advisor and be romantically involved with me as your client.”
“I know what you’re saying, Talya, believe me. But I can’t help what I feel, I need you now, besides, I want you now, not tomorrow, not next week, maybe never again.” His voice was demanding, almost commanding.
Here they were again, back at the one-night-stand proposition, and that wasn’t a proposition Talya wanted to consider, not now, not ever.
“In that case, I think we have to part company,” Talya said. “I cannot see you as my lawyer anymore, because I will not sacrifice what I’m trying to achieve to satisfy a passing desire.”
Hassan got up, and without a word; he walked out of the hotel.
Talya was stunned. She had done it. However justified she had been for doing so. She had chased him away. She hated herself for doing it. She stood up, walked out of the lounge and slowly climbed the stairs leading to her room. She felt disgruntled, flustered, and down right mad at herself. Talya couldn’t see how she was going to face the next day. She needed some shut-eye, but with all that coffee, she didn’t expect to be going to sleep anytime soon.
26
Hassan drove to Mohammed’s house. He had to talk to someone. This was fast becoming a nightmare. He could have kicked himself for walking out on her, but Talya was unbelievable. She wanted him, he could see it in her eyes, and yet, she sent him away like an unwanted servant. He was hurt.
He arrived at Mohammed’s place very late but as usual, the latter was sitting on the bench below the street light.
“Well, well, what brings you here on this fine night?” Mohammed watched his friend come to sit beside him.
Without preamble, Hassan said, “Have you ever known me to take a woman and reject her after one night?”
“No, not since you’ve returned from France, yet, I don’t know what you did while you were at the Sorbonne or while you were living in Paris.” Mohammed smiled. “But what’s this about?”
“It’s about Talya…”
“Umm, I see, and what about her?” Their meeting earlier that day had left a bitter taste in Mohammed’s mouth. “She is a very strong woman, you know. You saw her this morning.” His tone was flat, indignant. “You better watch your step. She won’t do your bidding, you know. She’s white, don’t you forget that.”
“I know, but she’s not giving in to her emotions either.”
“What do you mean by that?” Mohammed was curious.
“Well, I think I’m falling in love with her and I’ve told her!”
Mohammed couldn’t believe his ears. He looked at Hassan astonished. “You did what? You’re not serious? How could you be such an—”
“Such an idiot; is that what you were going to say?”
“Yes, that’s what I wanted to say. Do you realize what you’ve done? You had the opportunity of a lifetime here and you’ve shoved it down the drain just because you can’t control your yearnings? If that’s not idiotic, I don’t know what is.”
“That’s why I came to see you.”
“And what am I suppose to do about it?” Mohammed flared angrily. “The woman is probably filing a complaint against you as we speak.”
“No, she won’t do that. I know because I could see she has some feelings for me as well.”
“Did she say so? Did she tell you she felt the same way for you as you do for her? Or is it in your imagination?”
“No, I’m not imagining it. We went to the restaurant tonight and I touched her hand and she didn’t take it away.”
“Hassan! How could you? Don’t you have any restraint? Again, I tell you she’s white and she’ll turn on you…”
Hassan shook his head. “No!” he said vehemently. “I can’t believe that. I can read her better than that.”
“Oh, you can, can you? And what are you doing here then?”
“She invited me at the hotel for a tea after the restaurant and then she sent me away.”
“And you thought the invitation was meant for you to go straight to bed with her?”
“I guess I reached the wrong conclusion.” Hassan was abashed.
“That you did, you fool. How could you…?”
“I needed to find out if I love her or if it’s just infatuation. It’s driving me insane.”
“Did you also tell her that?”
“Yes, I did.” Hassan was embarrassed now, not because of Mohammed’s berating but because he recognized what he had said and done.
“You’re unbelievable! I’ve got only one thing to say to you: you’ve got to apologize and forget about getting involved with her for now. Otherwise, you’re asking for trouble. She may be a wonderful woman, and she obviously has principles and integrity, and those, my friend, won’t be bent just because you want her.”
Hassan felt miserable. He sat his head down, elbows on his knees. Mohammed patted his back in a friendly gesture. He knew Hassan well and he knew from experience that he wasn’t a man to give in to his emotions this easily. He wondered if his friend was really falling in love after all.
“All right then. It’s getting late. You go home and think about what I’ve said, and tomorrow you go and see her and ask her to forget about this whole thing.”
“I guess you’re right. I’ll see you later then …”
“Inshallah.”
Hassan got to his feet and walked away pensive.
27
Even with all the coffee she drank the evening before, Talya woke up the next morning feeling rested. She had fallen asleep on top of the covers. Somehow fatigue must have dragged her down into never-never land quickly enough.
And, wouldn’t you know it? The telephone rang. She picked up the receiver still lying on the bed.
“Hello?”
The receptionist was on the line.
“Good morning, Madame Kartz, sorry to disturb you but Maitre Sangor is here and he would like a word with you. Would you like me to put him through?”
“Hassan…,” Talya said, then caught herself, “I mean Maitre Sangor is downstairs?”
“Yes, Madame Kartz, Maitre is right here. Shall I put him on?”
“Of course, yes, yes please do.” Talya sat up wide-awake now.
“Talya? How are you?” As if nothing happened…. Unbelievable!
“I’m fine. And you?”
“I’m okay. I could be better, but that will happen only if and when I see you.”
“I just woke up. I don’t even know what time it is. If you have a few minutes to spare, just enough time for me to take a shower, I’ll meet you at the restaurant.”
“It’s already ten o’clock. I haven’t been to the office yet, and since you’re not ready, I’ll come back before lunch. How does that sound?”
“It sounds fine. Oh, before you go, tell me why did you decide to come back? I thought you were gone for good last night.”
“You don’t know me, Talya. I have a hard time letting go of an idea. See you in a couple of hours.”
He had hung up before Talya could say anything else. She looked at the receiver in her hand and wondered...
She got up, took a shower, turned on the music and felt good about herself. However, trouble was looming. Talya sensed it. She phoned the airline office and booked a return trip to Dakar for the following weekend. She wanted to believe that the Kankoon application was going to get through without a hitch, if Hassan put his mind to it and if the Minister did what he had promised to do, even though Hassan had told her they were only dismissal words on the part of the Minister, and not a promise. Yet, Talya wanted to go back to finding Savoi (and Rheza maybe?). She knew it was important to bring the man to justice, for many reasons, including that of Hassan’s father being duped. She had not forgotten about that problem, but it had to wait until she met with the man and examine what sort of settlement he and the other proprietors could consider as suitable.
Talya dialled Mohammed Fade’s number. She wasn’t sure he would be in his office, this being Saturday. He picked up the phone at first ring.
Doing away with the customary civilities rather quickly, Talya said, “I phoned to apologize for my behaviour yesterday. It was uncalled for. I know you wanted to help me to try to redress the situation. I had no excuse for erupting the way I did, nor should I have disturbed you for what is now Carmine’s problem.”
“First, you were not disturbing me, Madame Kartz. You must know this. I’m Rheza’s uncle and what you may consider to be ‘Carmine’s problem’, may go beyond and turn out to be much more complex than we first imagined. So, not only was I trying to help you (or your company) but I was intending to help Rheza out of the mess.”
“I can see that now. Yet at this stage, as I’m sure you understand, you can’t expect my company to pay for anyone’s assistance in this regard. The Board is adamant on that point. The Directors only want to cut their losses, not add to them.”
“Believe me, I understand your position. Then perhaps you’re right and you shouldn’t concern yourself with Rheza’s predicament…”
“But, I am concerned, Monsieur Fade. I believe Rheza’s troubles are directly related to her uncle’s disappearance. Moreover, as we have concluded on several occasions, I need to find Monsieur Savoi in order to clear my company’s name, which is imperative if we ever want to do business in your country. I also believe that I can only find a solution in Dakar and not in Bamako. I have told Hassan already, I’m going to Senegal shortly.”
“I’m very happy to hear you say that, because I know you’re right. Dakar will be the place where you’ll find the answers we’re all seeking. However, I’ll offer you some advice: do not trust anyone or you’ll be sorry for having done so.”
Especially Abdul Rasheed. “May be so, yet, I think I have a chance to kill two birds with one stone. On the one hand the trip to Dakar is an opportunity for me to start talking to Monsieur Hjamal and, on the other; maybe I’ll find out where your brother-in-law is hiding and locate Rheza as well.”
“Yes, I think that’s possible, even probable. I phoned Rheza’s family last night, she hasn’t been home for two days now. Therefore, it is my belief she’s gone to Dakar, as Hassan suggested.”
“That’s what I suspected also.” She paused. “Monsieur Fade, may I ask you a question?”
“Of course, what is it?”
“How did you know Abdul Rasheed?”
“Oh, well, I knew of Monsieur Hjamal from his well publicized venture in Senegal. A few months ago, his associate, Monsieur Rasheed, had investigated the possibility of obtaining financial assistance from our government. They were eventually turned down, I might add. I, therefore, knew they were involved in the mining industry. So, Rasheed’s name came to mind when you mentioned that my brother-in-law may have gone to Senegal. Does that answer your question?”
“Yes, it does, and thank you for that piece of information. All I need now is to file the Kankoon application, pack up my bags and get to Dakar as soon as I can.”
“Yes, but again, please be careful…” He paused. Then with some hesitation, “One more thing, Madame Kartz, if you’ll accept my help this time round, I’ll send you a fax this afternoon at your hotel. It will be listing the names of the people I know in Dakar and who may be of assistance to you. Also, if you wouldn’t mind calling me before your departure, so I could advise the parties concerned of the date and time of your arrival in Senegal.”
“I couldn’t ask for anything more from you, Monsieur Fade. And, if I don’t see you before I leave, let me thank you right now for everything you’ve done for me during my stay in Mali.” After a few more parting words, Talya hung up feeling relieved. Yet, Mohammed’s words of caution were not lost on her. Does he know more about Hjamal and Rasheed than he let on?
Talya went down for some late breakfast or early lunch, something to eat anyway. George, the waiter, didn’t know what to make of her changing schedule. He asked her if she wanted to wait for lunch or if he needed to ask the Chef to prepare something like a sandwich, perhaps. When Talya saw the nearly empty croissants’ tray and the pot of coffee left on the side table, she told him to bring her whatever he had left from breakfast.
Once she had eaten a couple leftover croissants, and she had drunk the last of the coffee, she went to the lounge and waited for Hassan to arrive. She was impatient as a schoolgirl waiting for her first rendezvous.
He eventually walked in around noon. He looked tired. He sat down opposite Talya and smiled but didn’t say anything. Are we going to play this game again, him smiling and saying nothing while I talk my mouth off? I think not.
“I’m glad to see you’ve reconsidered your position, Hassan, and decided to come back…”
“I’ve heard from Mohammed,” he interrupted brusquely. “You’re definitely leaving for Dakar next weekend and he’s going to give you a list of names of people who could help you when you’re there.” He was trying to put her on the defensive.
“Words do travel fast, I see,” Talya said a little miffed at his frontal attack. “But you’re right. I phoned Monsieur Fade this morning to apologize for my behaviour yesterday. We talked briefly about my intention to go to Dakar. By the way, he warned me not to trust anyone.” Hassan shook his head and frowned. She ignored his reaction. “As I told you yesterday, I’ll leave when (and only when) the Kankoon application is well in hand and not before. And, that is what I intend to do. I won’t drop everything to run off to Senegal without being assured my job here is done, or at least progressing.”
“I know you want to get out of here as soon as you can, Talya. I also know that it is important for you and for everyone concerned, that you should reach Dakar to try to find Savoi or Rheza, but you need also to make some sort of arrangements with the landowners before you go…”
“You mean, your father?”
“Yes, Talya, I mean my father. He is the man who will be able to intercede on your behalf and talk to the other proprietors so that you wouldn’t have to worry about these people protesting against the processing of the Kankoon application.”
“Can they do that?” That’s all I need—another hurdle…
“Of course they can and will. You have to consider that your agent has promised them that their land would be explored. Therefore, if no one explains to them that nothing of the sort is going to happen, these people are going to lodge a protest against Carmine for breach of promises.”
“But that could take weeks before we could visit everyone…”
“Not necessarily. As we discussed, my father is the one we should visit at the first opportunity and resolve the issue with him. After that, he will make it his duty to call on every other owner and explain the situation to them in view of settling the matter as rapidly as possible.”
“All right then. I guess my trip to Dakar is off for awhile.”
Talya had too much on her plate and problems seemed to pile up on it every time she blinked.
“Meanwhile we’ll get the application filed…”
A thought occurred to her and Talya rudely cut him off. “Oh, by the way, do you have the owner’s deed for the Kankoon property? We need a copy to go with the application.”
“Yes, I do. It was among the paperwork that Kane returned to me when I got the list of the landowners.”
“And what kind of settlement will he want, do you think?”
“I suggest we discuss the matter with my father first.”
“Alright then, I suppose it’s back to work…”
“Yes, it is, but I still haven’t heard you say that you wanted me as your attorney again. You dismissed me last night, remember?”
“I did, didn’t I? But consider yourself re-hired,” Talya said smiling. Really, who else was there to help her out?
“Thank you, Talya, and I accept. I also want to apologize for my disrespectful behaviour toward you. But I won’t hide the fact that I care for you and I would like us to be friends.” Talya didn’t like that last word.
Do I dare ask? She did. “And what kind of a friend, am I supposed to be?” She was afraid of the answer. “What kind of friendship do you want? From everything I’ve heard last night; you want me in bed as soon as possible.”
Hassan was visibly obfuscated by her rebuke. They stayed quiet for several minutes. This time he was the first to break the silence.
“I think I better go. You’re not ready for any of this. I can see that you don’t want to be honest with yourself and with me. So, if you’ll permit me I’ll leave…” He took his keys and briefcase off the table. Talya didn’t want him to go.
He was right. I am not ready for any of this. Then much against her will and with less success to remain on the fringe of her emotions, to face the facts as best she could, without showing any private conflict, she broke down. She couldn’t avoid admitting that she wanted to be Hassan’s friend, perhaps more than a friend.
“Hassan, please allow me to say, I’m sorry. I know I’ve offended you. You’re right; I’m pushing you away because I’m afraid to take the first step toward a relationship that may be doomed to fail. Yet, in the end, I guess you win—yes, I want to be your friend. Maybe more so than you can believe or imagine at this moment.”
The dismay in his face seemed to subside a little. He knew he had won her over. Talya was relieved to have admitted to him and to herself that she needed someone.
“Thank you, Talya. You have earned my respect and admiration now, but you’ll have to learn to let go. When you’re with me, from now on, you have to let yourself go, so I can understand and love you better.”
For everything he was saying, Talya was pleased, yet neither her heart nor her mind was ready for any of this.


28
For the next week or so, Talya worked on the Kankoon application at Hassan’s office. They didn’t mention anything about this friendship that they had settled upon one another. Truth be told, Talya was glad of it; she had enough in mind without having to worry about a relationship for the time being. She postponed her trip to Dakar to the following Sunday, as Hassan suggested. They translated forms, deposited forms and filed even more forms.
In every country, there is an administrative body, which is created for the sole purpose of issuing, sorting, classifying and stamping forms. What am I saying? There must be dozens of these offices and ‘bureaux’ in each of the numerous government departments, which serve that purpose—in triplicate eventually.
Throughout this enforced administrative labour, Talya didn’t broach the subject of Hassan’s adoptive father being one of the landowners. This was an omission on her part—perhaps she trusted Hassan would reveal the name of the person when he was ready to do so. The Kankoon land belonged to a woman—not a man—which was the only person of importance in this instance.
Talya heard nothing from Rheza. The need to find Savoi and eventually bring him to justice was shelved for the time being—it would have to wait until she reached Dakar. Actually, all of their pre-occupations were overshadowed by the amount of work the Kankoon application demanded.
Most of the time, Daphne helped them with some of the typing. Talya checked with the hotel occasionally for messages and kept James in the loop, so to speak, without giving him too many details—he didn’t want to hear from her if everything was going according to plan.
Chantal phoned a couple of times giving her an update on Jean-Claude’s progress since his surgery, while Talya would give her a run-down on what had become their daily routine—filling out and filing forms.
Meanwhile, Hassan and Talya had another meeting with Mohammed Fade. She had received the promised fax with a list of names, before she knew they were to meet again prior to her leaving for Dakar. They were mostly professionals who were on assignment in Dakar and others who were members of government with influence in the right circles. Monsieur Fade explained how these people could help if Talya needed their particular assistance. Before they were about to leave his office, he renewed his warning.
“I’ll give you a word of caution once again, Madame Kartz, do be careful. Senegalese people are not as complacent and easygoing as Malians are. Their ancestors were mostly warriors, hunters and fishermen. They have a belligerent trait, which doesn’t allow for much understanding or compassion. If things don’t go their way for some reason, they’ll fight for what they want, with bloodshed if necessary. Even mere tourists have come to harm at their hands for innocently trespassing on their property. And I’m not telling you this to scare you, only to warn you.” He paused for a moment as if he wasn’t sure he wanted to make the next comment. “Please don’t be offended when I say that you have a tendency to lose your temper, which in Senegal may cost you your life.”
“I appreciate you giving me some insight into the background of the people I’m going to deal with,” Talya said, some edginess in her voice, “and I know my attitude in certain circumstances has caused me grief more than once. I’ll take your advice, I’ll keep my eyes opened and I’ll try to keep my emotions in check. I have no intention to return to Canada in a coffin, my mother would turn in her grave.” Talya slid in a smile. It didn’t work. “All joking aside, Monsieur Fade, I know what you’re saying and believe me I’m not taking anything you’ve said lightly.”
Hassan was sitting on the edge of Mohammed’s desk looking down at Talya. “Mohammed is right. You’re going to face people, who want something from you, or maybe they want to hide from you, and they’re not going to shy from aggression just because you’re white or a woman. You have to understand that Senegal is full of Islamic radicals who will hide behind their faith to excuse their crimes…”
“Hold on a minute,” Talya cut-in impetuously. “Let’s not get carried away here. We’ve got to keep things in perspective. I’m going to Dakar to meet with Monsieur Hjamal hoping to open negotiations to acquire mining interests in his venture. I have no intention to antagonize him deliberately. If Monsieur Hjamal is able to provide some information leading me to your brother-in-law or Rheza, all the better, because as you both told me many times (and I agreed), we need to find Amadou Savoi to get the Kankoon application approved and clear Carmine’s name.”
Mohammed Fade nodded. “We’ve all agreed, it’s necessary for you to go to Dakar, but all we’ve ever wanted is to keep you safe, nothing else….”
“Thank you, Monsieur Fade. I’m grateful to the both of you”—she lifted her gaze to Hassan—“I can see that you care and I’ll promise you to keep in touch every step of the way.”
Hassan got off his perch, grabbed his jacket and turned to his friend. “I think it’s time for us to let you get back to work. We still have a few things to do ourselves. So, I’ll see you tonight, as usual?”
“Yes, Hassan. Inshallah.”

29
When the paperwork was done, the application finally filed and deposited in Monsieur Kane’s hands, and the Minister of Mines alerted of the fact, Hassan and Talya decided it was high time for Talya to meet his stepfather. For that, they needed to travel up-country to the heart of the Sahel. His residence wasn’t very far out of town, yet as soon as they would leave the city limits they would need to travel over a track road for 150 miles or so. In North American terms, 150 miles is a mere three or four hours’ trip, in the Sahel however, you’re looking at a half a day’s journey, depending on the road condition. Talya packed an overnight bag—just in case they didn’t make it back that evening.
Hassan asked her to be ready at seven o’clock the next morning and to wear something comfortable so that climbing in and out of his Jeep wasn’t going to be a problem. Talya was excited at the prospect of meeting people outside Bamako, and perhaps discovering some of Mali’s folklore. She knew Africa held many secrets and some of them were places more beautiful than one could ever imagine.
Abutting the southern rim of the Sahara, the Sahel stretches its immensity to the northern banks of the Niger River. Much like the Devil’s playpen, Mali is endowed with everything beautiful the Sahel has to offer, and everything treacherous it could bestow on its inhabitants.
Seven o’clock arrived soon enough, and Talya was looking forward to spending time with Hassan doing other things than dutifully completing forms. He was elegantly dressed. His jeans and cream shirt suited him to a T. He was smiling when he saw Talya come out of the hotel. She was wearing a comfortable pair of cotton trousers with flat shoes and a cotton shirt, long sleeved, to avoid any biting from hungry insects that would inevitably keep them company during the journey.
They drove through the city at a snail’s pace. Just a few miles out of town, they crossed the Niger on a very old stone bridge, a one-lane affair spanning quite low over large boulders that lined the riverbed. It lay so close to the water level, it would be impassable during the rain-season in June and July. When the fury of the monsoon descends upon the Sahel, the Niger bulges out of its banks to inundate nearby towns, villages and fields for weeks without respite; bringing fertility to the flooded earth such as a mother nurturing her children.
They stopped the car at the other end of the bridge’s one-mile stretch and walked down to the edge of the stream. The river was still at its lowest ebb leaving little puddles nestling in the larger stones. They shimmered in the sun like a myriad of small ponds strewn over the rocks. It was quite a sight. They talked a little. They jumped over the water gussets and simply had fun like two kids playing hooky.
They drove in silence for the rest of the trip. The past week’s toils began to take their toll. They were both too tired to talk. Distractedly, Talya watched the vastness of the Sahel opening up before her eyes. The hilly countryside was dotted with small green trees and bushes over an orange sandy-carpeted track winding its way under a deep blue sky. Often, devastating sandstorms will trace and retrace the Sahel’s nomadic routes making travel impossible for days. It is said that the spirit of the Sahel shapes the lives and integrity of everyone attempting to travel its paths. It becomes the master of one’s mind and existence. Once trapped in the Sahel’s enveloping magnitude there is no escape from the thralls of its sensuous desires and passion for adventure. Talya felt as if it had captured her.
She must have nodded off for a while because when they pulled up in front of the property gate, suddenly she was wide-awake, yet she felt as though she was still asleep, for the dreamlike picture before her seemed all too unreal.
Beyond a low, white painted fence, there were four or five cottages tucked in among the trees and the pink laurels that surrounded this obviously vast estate. These whitewashed houses were topped with red-slated roofs. Their green louvered doors and shutters married the brightly coloured garden. Red and pink bottlebrush poked their heads amid scented jasmine bushes, skirting multicoloured bougainvillea, which climbed some of the corners of every house. The light breeze, brushing against the jasmine heightened the freshness emanating from the place. It was a remarkable display of hues and teasing scents—in the middle of the Sahel.
“This is amazing. This place is wonderful. I can’t describe it.”
“You don’t need to describe it, Talya, just enjoy it.”
They left the Jeep where it stood and walked toward what seemed to be the main house. A man came out from under the front veranda’s awnings. The sun was blinding him. He hesitated. Then, putting a hand over his brow, he took the few steps separating him from seeing his visitors plainly. Once he did, and he recognized Hassan, he practically bellowed.
“My son! What did I do to deserve your presence here on this wonderful day?”
As he reached them, Talya was amazed. The man looked ancient but as strong as an ox. He was tall, handsome, his head adorned with grey, wavy hair. His coffee colour skin had the velvet sheen of the outdoors. He looked like a mythical god plucked out of a Greek History book. His smile was magnetic. He was dressed in a white embroidered cotton mishlah (or cloak) thrown elegantly over a grey thawb. His appreciative gaze didn’t leave Talya’s face as she walked beside Hassan toward him. He hugged Hassan in a warm and paternal embrace.
He peered into his eyes. “My son, you have chosen well. This woman is beautiful. Her hair is the colour of the sunlight at dawn and her eyes are as blue as the sky.”
Tout flatteur vit aux dépends de celui qui l’écoute.
Talya knew the rules. Unless this man spoke to her directly, she wasn’t supposed to utter a word. After all, this house, this piece of paradise lost in the Sahel was his home, and he was the master in it. He could accept and welcome anyone anytime he pleased, even though in the desert, it is customary to offer any visitor water and shelter for three days whether the person is friend or foe.
Hassan turned toward Talya and said to the old man, “Father, I want you to meet a very dear woman and a friend of mine: this is Talya Kartz.”
“Hello, Talya Kartz. Welcome to my house, welcome to my family. The gods have blessed you with beauty and I sense with intelligence, too. Yet, were you a toad or a raven, if you were a friend of this man, you would be welcome here. My humble abode is your home now.”
Hassan turned to her. “This is Yves Sandros, Talya, known also as ‘The Grand Lion’, and please don’t laugh, it is what we have named him, only because, as people miles around would tell you, he’s a proud man with the strength of a lion and the integrity of the beast. He has honoured me for many years by raising me as his son, which care and title I have tried to repay and honour for as long as I can remember.”
That was Talya’s cue; she was permitted to speak. “I’m delighted to meet you. I cannot say that Hassan has talked much about you, because that would be untrue, but if I may be allowed to say, I’m very happy to be here with him. I thank him for bringing me to your home, and I thank you, Monsieur, for your hospitality. I hope to be worthy of your goodness.”
Now that the formalities are over, I can go back to being me. Had she not been herself until then?
“Come in, both of you. I will ask Melinda to make some tea to celebrate your arrival. I have what you Americans call herbal tea. Would you like some?” A broad smile lit up his face.
Although Talya didn’t particularly fancy herbal tea, she didn’t want to refuse. “Yes, I would love a cup of tea—jasmine is my favourite,” she replied without much hesitation.
“So, jasmine tea it shall be.” The Lion nodded with marked pleasure.
As they stepped onto the veranda, Hassan said, “Talya, if the Lion would allow us, I’d like to show you the house and the gardens.”
“Of course, my son—where are my manners? Please both of you come with me,” the Lion rejoined, stretching an arm in a welcoming gesture, and preceding them in their visit.
The house was decorated with taste. From the porch, they entered the living room. It was spacious. You could put two of mine in there. Three chairs and a sofa covered with rugged woven cloth were facing floor-to-ceiling windows, which offered a view of the front garden. As they walked through the house, Talya noticed an agreeable coolness, probably emanating from the slate floor—a nice feeling on a hot day.
Separating the living room from the dining room, a massive fireplace had been erected using the same huge boulders as the ones they had seen in the river. This is an impressive piece of work. In most areas of the Sahel, temperatures drop below ten degrees Celsius at night, and it is quite common to find a fireplace in many of the wealthy proprietors’ homes.
In the dining room, the effect was striking. The hand-made wooden table and chairs, the wood-carvings and woven carpets hanging sparingly on the stone walls, the heavy brass chandelier suspended from the high-ceiling over the table, and the enormous sideboard standing imposingly along the far wall, all reminded Talya of a medieval tavern. The furniture was heavy, and shone from years of careful polishing.
With pride in his eyes, the Lion told Talya how he had constructed the house stone by stone while making sure every item used in the building of his home was from Mali. “…From my country,” he said. He wanted no part of anyone else’s heritage.
They came out of the house through the back door, which opened onto yet another garden. There were flowerbeds everywhere, their blossoms radiant in the midday sun. A little path led them to a small grass-covered meadow under the shade of a copse of huge fruit trees surrounded by tea shrubs and junipers. Farther along the path and round the side of the main house, they found the three smaller bungalows, which Talya had observed from the gate when they arrived. In a far corner of the property, almost hidden from view, there was yet another house. This one was slightly smaller. It looked vacant.
The Lion turned to Hassan. “My son, you know that I’ve kept your house as the day you left it. Would you want to show it today to your friend?” Talya looked at Hassan expectantly.
“No, not today, father.” His eyes were averting her gaze. “I have to finish my work first before allowing myself to unlock that door again.” Talya was curious. That house held a secret. What story lay behind that door? It was not the time or the place to ask, however. They walked back to the main house and sat in the lounge chairs assembled in the shade of the veranda’s awnings. As they relaxed, admiring nature’s magnificent gifts, the red sand, the tall trees, the flowers, Talya felt as if enveloped with a sense of peace, for the first time in weeks.
Soon after they sat down, Melinda came to the terrace, placing the teapot and a tray with cups, spoons and sugar on the table between their seats. She introduced herself as Yves Sandros’s wife and retreated quickly. She wouldn’t be permitted to join them at this time. Muslim women seldom are on any such occasion.
A few minutes passed, while the two men engaged in some ritual talks about family, friends and other common concerns, and before Yves Sandros, The Lion, turned to Talya and said, “Madame Kartz, I will address you now, not as the friend of my son, but as a representative of Carmine. My son, I am sure, has explained to you that twelve of the most respected landowners in these parts have been victims of what you call a ‘swindle’. The person who misrepresented your company has taken money from each of us under false pretences and has marred our reputation. I am asking you now to consider our position in view of settling this matter with me first, and in turn with some of the owners of my neighbouring lands.”
That’s what I called going straight to the heart of the matter! It was a very surprising way to engage such a discussion, in African terms. More often than not, one would be faced with many excuses, and so called reasons for being induced in such a fraud, which only served to dilute the issue in endless palavers leading to resentful conclusions. In this case, Yves Sandros made it clear that he had been cheated out of his money and admitted that he had not been astute enough to see through Savoi’s game—no excuses, no palavers, no plea from this man—no wonder he earned the nick-name of ‘Lion’.
“Mr. Sandros, I would like first to apologize on behalf of my company for what has happened. We were also victims of Monsieur Savoi’s cunning, as you are aware, and we regret the day we ever engaged his services.”
The Lion peered into Talya’s eyes and remained silent for a minute before saying, “Yes. My son has explained your predicament. Perhaps, in this regard, we could help each other … but for the moment, let me ask you this, what do you need from me, or from the other owners ... documents, papers, figures…?”
“In the first place,” Talya began, fixing the face of this remarkable man, “we would need to know how much you disbursed and what was promised to you in return. Knowing these facts, we would then be in a position to consider some proposal, in kind or in cash, for reimbursement.”
“As you can appreciate, I am a rich man, Madame Kartz, even in American terms. I have paid Monsieur Savoi some two thousand American Dollars in hard currency, in exchange for which I was promised in writing, to obtain a ten percent royalty from any gold produced from my property.” 10%? Good Grief! That’s unthinkable. No mining company could afford to pay 10% royalty to anyone. A royalty was usually around a percentage point … not 10%!
Talya was at a loss for words, agape and incapable of expressing her outrage.
“This is quite amazing, Mr. Sandros,” she finally uttered. “Not only would two thousand American Dollars break many a man’s bank account in this country, but promising you ten percent on the production of a mine that does not even exist yet, was totally unrealistic.”
“I know that now. The seed I have sown in this instance will not reap me any profit, I am all too aware of the fact. You see, I made my fortune in the diamond trade, and not unlike the gold trade, profits are minimal at first and only grow after years of patient labour. You have to buy the stones that will raise the highest bidding before you can make the first dollar on your investment. In this instance, I had only one goal in mind and that was to provide for my first wife when I depart this earth. I thought two thousand dollars was a meagre sum to pay, in view of the possibilities that this investment offered.”
“I see that you are a learned man, and your intentions were laudable,” Talya said, with all the sincerity she felt. “However, unlike the diamond trade, whereby you have only to buy the stones to provide you with the assets necessary to pursue your sale endeavours, in gold exploration and production, it takes years before the first ingot is produced out of any mine. In this particular case, Carmine has set their sights on one piece of land only, which after cursory investigation appears to warrant exploration.”
“May I ask the name of that property?” Talya saw Hassan smile. Not again! Not another uncle!
Shooting a reproving glance at her attorney, “I believe you know it already, Monsieur Sandros,” Talya said.
He shook his head and chuckled. Talya stared.
“Yes, I believe I do,” the Lion replied, smiling at Hassan and at Talya in turn. “But please indulge me in confirming Hassan’s words for me…”
“It’s called ‘Kankoon’. It is located—”
“I know it well, and as you have probably gathered, yes, it is one of my properties in North East Mali, abutting the Tambaoura cliffs—a hundred miles south of Kayes.”
“But… How…” Talya was surprised because the name she had read on the documentation was not that of Yves Sandros.
Holding his hand up, indicating that he had the answer to Talya’s querying facial expression, Yves Sandros said, “I see that Hassan has kept the identity of the owner secret from you. Let me enlighten you. My first wife’s parents originally owned this property and it came to me as part of her dowry. Here again, I kept her father’s name on the deed because, if I died too early, and since we don’t have children, unfortunately, she would have an estate on which to live.”
The man didn’t know it yet, but if Carmine’s first geological investigation proved correct, his wife was literally sitting on a gold mine.
“Mr. Sandros, I need to ask you this; I have seen the deed of the property, a copy of which has been filed with our application for an exploration permit, would your wife have the power-of-attorney over the property, since she is your spouse?” Talya had to ask because according to Islamic laws, a wife does not own a property outright—her husband does. If this was the case, Hassan was in for trouble from Talya. Their application would have been filed incorrectly.
“Yes, she owns the property outright now. I gave it to her when I participated in Monsieur Savoi’s scheme.”
Phew! That was close…
Hassan looked at Talya. “I knew all along that it was my step-mother’s property now, I wouldn’t have induced you in error …”
“May be not, Hassan, but I would have appreciated knowing the fact beforehand.” Talya was annoyed, to say the least. She didn’t like to be the mushroom, kept in the dark, etc.
“Don’t blame Hassan for hiding this fact,” Yves Sandros put-in, seeing that Talya shot a reproachful glance in Hassan’s direction. “I was the one who asked him to keep this information from you. Pardon me for the blunder.”
“By all means, but now this situation begs the question: what form of reimbursement will you expect from Carmine, knowing that on the one hand we are going to explore the land and on the other that we couldn’t possibly consider a ten percent royalty on the production, if there were any from the land?”
“As far as the two thousand dollars are concerned, I still consider it as a fair investment, so I don’t want any reimbursement of that money.” Talya was puzzled. She had expected that some sort of repayment would be warranted. “As for the ten percent, no, I don’t want to demand what is not possible to give. Allah would punish me for the greed I would display toward you.”
Talya raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Then, what would you consider a suitable arrangement?” What does he have up his sleeve?
“As I said, I wanted to provide for my wife when I go back to Allah, and I still do. So I would like for Melinda to receive a pension—a modest one—in perpetuity from the sale of the gold if, and when Kankoon becomes a gold producing property.”
That sounded fair enough, although Talya didn’t know what he meant by ‘modest’.
“Yes. I think Carmine may be able to accept these terms, but that will be up to the Board of Directors, when the time comes to ratify the agreement.”
“Well then, since this is settled,” the Lion said with a broad smile of satisfaction crossing his handsome face, “we should have lunch,” and suddenly shouting toward the house, he called Melinda.
“Hassan,” Talya said, turning to him with a burning question on her lips, “what about the other owners?”
“Don’t worry. My father will take care of that in due course. I am sure he will talk to you about this after we ate.”
The array of dishes spread before them was more lavish than Talya had expected, by any stretch of the imagination. She remembered that some of these delicacies were part of the feast, which usually concludes the Ramadan. Yet, the Ramadan’s forty-day’s fast had ended some weeks earlier; she wondered why they were so spoiled. Her taste buds didn’t care really, and she was so grateful for the change from the hotel food that she felt obliged to thank the lady of the house personally. She excused herself and stepped inside in search of the kitchen.
A beautiful woman, tall as the Peule women are in that part of the country, turned to face Talya in surprise as she came in.
“Melinda. I came to thank you. The meal was superb.”
Melinda’s brown eyes delicately trimmed with long eyelashes enhanced the fine features of her face, and those eyes gazing at Talya showed cleverness and a bit of cunning. Her age was indiscernible, her smooth skin was unblemished and the absence of wrinkles revealed nothing of her years.
“Madame Kartz! You didn’t have to come to the kitchen. You are our guest.” She wiped her hands quickly on a dishtowel she had grabbed from the fridge door handle. “Please excuse the mess, I’m just cleaning up.” She had been standing beside the L-shaped counter near the sink. The numerous stainless-steel cupboards above and beneath it gleamed from daily care. She had all the appliances of the modern kitchen at her disposal. I doubt these were ‘Made in Mali’.
In a flash, Talya went back to her minute kitchen in Vancouver. With its two very small countertops encumbered with microwave, toaster, coffee maker, etc., she envied Melinda the space and convenience.
“Don’t apologize. Good cooking requires lots of pots and pans and a lot of washing up afterwards.” Or so I believe.
“It does, Madame. Would you like something else … some biscuits maybe?”
“Melinda, I’ve eaten so much, I couldn’t accept anything else.”
Peering momentarily through the window above the sink, Talya could see the other houses. She was wondering about the little, lonely cottage at the back of the property. “Was that Maitre Sangor’s house at one time?” She was as curious as ever.
“Yes, it was. He closed it a long time ago. He used to live there with his mother when he was a boy. When she went away and he was old enough to go to France to school, he closed the door and never opened it since.” Melinda lowered her eyes, looking forlorn.
Talya felt it wasn’t a subject she wanted to discuss with a stranger, and moved on. “What about the other houses, are they occupied?”
Melinda turned to Talya again. Her smile had returned. “Oh, yes they are,” she replied, almost mocking the question. “Yves’s other wives live there. We each have a house of our own. We’re blessed to have married Yves; he’s been a good husband. We have everything we need and his love and respect, too. It’s not like the families we know in town.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Everybody lives in one house there. Here we have a garden and space to be by ourselves and we can devote our time to Yves, making him happy.”
In the matter of devotion to a man, let alone to a husband, Talya considered herself a nullity, so she quickly changed the subject—shopping; what every woman in the world does with some varied degree of relish.
“Is there a market near here where you do your shopping?”
“Oh no, there isn’t. We go to town very often for the things we need to buy but we have all the vegetables and fruit we need right here. We grow everything here and we go and buy meat from a neighbour. He has sheep and cows and chickens, like the one you ate today.”
She wiped her hands again. “Do you want to sit down?” She indicated one of the benches which stood on either side of a long wooden table.
“No, thank you, Melinda, I don’t want to disturb you any longer. I’ll go back to Yves and Maitre Sangor, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure, Madame Kartz. It was nice of you to come and see me. If you need anything, just come and tell me and I’ll do what I can…” She turned back to the sink once again. Her smile had disappeared.
The sadness Talya had detected early during their chat had resounded in Melinda’s every word. Beside Hassan, there appeared to have been no children in this paradise.
Talya returned to the porch where the two men sat drinking their tea, conversing in Bambara. Hassan saw her come out and they resumed speaking French. They were talking about sports. That seems to be a common thread among the male population of every nation, but which wasn’t Talya’s favourite topic of conversation, and only when it reverted to something other than the latest sportscast, did she tune in and pay attention.
Yves was recounting stories of his many travels in Botswana and South Africa. Now retired, he was enjoying the peace of his paradise while his life long honesty allowed him to reap the benefits of his labours. Listening to him, Talya was drawn by the sagacity of the man. Every word he spoke was as if written or recited from recalled poetry.
When he looked at Talya, she chanced the question, “Did you ever think of writing a book about your adventures?”
“Yes I did. A long time ago, someone I led through a safari asked me to send him stories. He was a publisher of some sort. I did send him a few pages occasionally, but he never responded, so I stopped.”
“Perhaps, I could hunt him down for you, if you’d like to start writing again?”
“No. I don’t think it is worth the bother. I’m not worth the bother. I have other things to do here. My gardens, my flowers, my trees and of course my teas, all that to take care of.” Nevertheless, there was a flicker of melancholy in his eyes. His age seemed to weigh heavily on his heart.
While they were talking, three women came round from the side of the house toward the veranda. Yves and his guests rose as they approached. He addressed them in Bambara. They smiled in reply. They were dressed in long djellaba gowns with fancy headdress and jewellery adorning their fingers, ear lobes and wrists. In West Africa, Muslim wives wearing Jewellery is a sign of the husband’s wealth and of appreciation for his wives beauty and devotion. They came up the steps and Yves made the introductions. They were Yves’s last three wives. All three were similar in height, presence and allure. They were behaving like sisters, chatting, laughing, and carrying on under the watchful eye of their husband. He was proud.
They said they were intending to go to town visiting some relatives and do some shopping. They would be back after sunset.
At this point, Melinda came out. She, too, was dressed ready to go out. At her sight, Yves went to her, took her hand, gave her a set of car keys and asked that she’d be careful driving, “especially over the bridge,” he said. They watched them going toward the garage where a man was leaning against the front fender of a large silver Citroën, presumably the vehicle they were taking to town.
There is definitely a fortune to be made in diamonds.
Hassan got up and ran down the steps toward the Jeep, which was blocking the driveway.
Yves and Talya stayed alone on the veranda for a few moments. As soon as he saw that Hassan was out of earshot, Yves went straight for the heart. “Do you love him?”
“I…” What am I supposed to say? Talya was shocked by the forwardness of his question. In a way, she shouldn’t have been surprised at all by his impertinence, since in Islam, a host is allowed to ask anything he likes from a visitor staying under his roof, especially when it comes to the future of his offspring. Yves was simply concerned about his son’s choice of possible wife, which wasn’t her. Of that, Talya was sure.
“Do you?” he insisted.
“I don’t know, Monsieur Sandros. I think I do. It may be too soon for me to tell.”
“You’re not a young woman, you must know by now how you would feel if you were in love with Hassan.”
“Yes, I should, shouldn’t I? But I don’t. I’m afraid to fall in love with him…”
“Afraid?” Yves raised and eyebrow. “I’ve raised Hassan and I know there is nothing to be afraid of. The man is good, because the child was good…”
“Yes, I can see he is good, but am I good enough for him? What was in my youth maybe has no place in his future…”
“And do you think Hassan can live alone for a life time with the burden of his past?”
“I don’t know, because I don’t know him…” That’s all they had time to say. Hassan was coming back.
When the women were gone and they had settled in the lounge chairs once again, Yves asked Talya to tell him what Carmine intended to offer as a settlement to the other proprietors.
“The same as in your case, Monsieur Sandros, until we know what sort of arrangements they had with Monsieur Savoi, we cannot advance any proposal.”
“Yes, I understand that, but I am aware of at least five owners having received the same kind of promises as I did, and they, too, paid what seemed the regular fee for this scam—two thousand dollars.”
“In that case, all I can say, without consulting with the members of the Board, is that we will want to hear what each of these people have in mind,” Talya concluded, looking at the two men in turn. “Yet, given the fact that we do not intend to enter their property any time soon, maybe a reimbursement of the two thousand dollars would be the only proposition we could make, other perhaps than offering assistance in kind.”
“Yes,” Yves said, nodding approvingly. “I will make it my duty then to inquire as to what each of them wants. I know already that one of them needs regular medication to be flown in from Dakar and it has to be paid in hard currency, which he doesn’t have. Maybe you could offer to buy the medication for him until the two thousand dollars are repaid.”
“That could work.” That was something Carmine could afford, since Canadian companies offer charitable medical assistance throughout the world, for tax deduction purposes. “But here again, we will need to have all decisions sanctioned by the Board, as I am sure you understand. Ken Davros is our financial officer and he should be able to work out some sort of agreement with that proprietor, or with any other owners who have that kind of proposal in mind.”
“You go to Dakar, Madame Kartz, and I will be in touch with you as soon as I have some tangible result from my investigations.” Then suddenly, he turned to his son. “Are you planning to go with Talya to Dakar?”
“Not at the moment, I’m not.”
“And, may I ask why not?” Yves looked surprised by Hassan’s negative answer.
“Well, I have my practice here and I can’t just go gallivanting to Dakar whenever one of my friends decides to travel.”
“That’s not a reason, not even an excuse,” Yves said dismissively, shrugging his shoulders. “Talya is your friend. I know she’ll need you. This job of finding people and pursuing criminals is not a job for a woman. She may be white, well educated and even powerful, but she will still need your assistance, advice and most of all, she’ll need your love.” Will I now?
Hassan bent forward to put his elbows on his knees—his favourite position when broaching a contentious subject. He looked down at the floorboards.
Yves continued, “Yes. There is no use tiptoeing around, Hassan. You look like you need to love her. So, let it be, and go to Dakar with her.”
Now that everyone had decided Hassan should accompany Talya and although she knew this exchange concerned her, but wasn’t meant to include her, she was a little putout that no one asked her if she wanted Hassan along for the ride. She had to say something.
“Yves,” Talya said, using his first name deliberately to underline the friendship, which he had extended to her by calling her Talya. “I thank you for your concern but it may be a costly and unwarranted trip for him. My company will not be ready to pay for his expenses or his time as counsel if there doesn’t seem to be a need for a lawyer to accompany me.”
“I’m sure Hassan can afford to pay his own way,” Yves countered. “Yet, I can see that you two haven’t talked this through and you’re not ready to committing yourselves to anything at the moment. So, I’ll retreat. I’m sorry if I’ve intruded.” Yves looked embarrassed.
Hassan raised his head and smiled. “You know, father, I came here, as always, seeking advice. Talya did not ask me to go with her, and for reasons of my own, I suppose I tried to convince myself she should go alone. However, during the past weeks, I became more and more aware of her needs and after listening to your words, I know now that going with Talya is a necessary thing to do.” Hassan looked at his father with deference.
“Allah be praised,” Yves said, slamming his fist on the armrest of the lounge chair and lifting his head to the heavens. “Raising this child has not been in vain. He might listen to this old man after all.” He laughed heartily while Hassan and Talya smiled at each other. The old man uncovered their feelings and the tension was broken once again. It was strange. Every time they spoke of their affection for each other, or someone brought up the subject, they would become very leery and unwilling to step into the ring. It wasn’t a topic they talked about easily.
It was nearly four o’clock and it was time for Hassan and Talya to leave. It had been a perfect day. Yves gave Talya a big bear hug and said that if one day she needed to escape from the world beyond these garden gates, to come back and stay with him. Hassan said they should be returning from Dakar within a few days and he would phone him soon. Yves looked apprehensive and worried. He had probably foreseen the future.
30
What’s taking him so long? Richard was pacing the packed sand at the edge of the beach. The waves came dying at his feet, gently rolling under the gleaming moonlight. He heard the car come to a stop on the embankment to his left. A door slammed. A few moments later, Richard saw a dark figure make its way down the sand path toward him. Finally. It took him long enough.
“Have you got the package?” Richard was not one for preambles.
“Of course.” The fellow pulled out a small packet out of his briefcase and handed it to him.
“Good. Shall I return to Nouakchott first, or where do you want me to start?”
“I thought I had made it plain to you; you start distributing the product from the point of landing, or do you want me to draw you a picture?”
“No, that won’t be necessary. I know what you mean.” Richard didn’t display any of his misgivings, although he still wasn’t clear where the ‘point of landing’ was.
“Oh, one more thing,” the man said as he turned to leave, “there is a woman who’s arrived in Bamako last month—”
“A woman? Who is she?”
“She won’t be a problem…. She could make trouble for some of us—not for you, though….”
“Who is she? What’s her name?” Richard didn’t like busy-bodies … and why did he mention her if she wasn’t going to be any trouble for him…. Why not?
The stranger shrugged. “She is some sort of administrator from Carmine.”
“From Carmine? I thought you said these guys were not coming back.”
“They’re not, but she seems to be very nosy….”
Taking a pen and a folded sheaf of paper out of his breast pocket, Richard asked again, “What’s her name?”
“Talya Kartz. But, really, I don’t think it should be any concern of yours now….”
“Maybe not, but thanks all the same. I’ll keep her in mind.” Saying this, Richard pocketed the sheaf of paper together with the pen, and bid goodbye to the man who was already making his way back to his car.
He sat on the sand, looking around him to see if anyone was watching him—no one was there. Then Richard unwrapped the packet feverishly and before opening what looked like a Tupperware container, he rolled up one of his sleeves. As he did so, someone grabbed him by the shoulders from behind, and literally lifted him off the ground. Once on his feet, Richard pivoted to face his assailant, still holding the small container in his right hand.
“YOU? What is this? What are you doing here?”
“Surprised, Richard?”
“You could say that, yes. Where do you come from? I thought you were gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?”
“I don’t know…”
“Well, don’t worry about me. I’ll be gone soon enough. Instead, you should worry about you. What’s in the box?”
“What do you mean?” Richard looked down at the rectangular container in his hand as if he had never laid eyes on it before that instant.
“You know very well what I mean. So, don’t let me interrupt you. Go ahead … Let me see…” The man grabbed the box from Richard’s hand and snapped it open. “Just as I thought…”
“Give me that!” Richard yelled, incensed at the man’s intrusion.
Pushing Richard away in a swift and forceful movement, the burly fellow said, “Go ahead, kill yourself. Go ahead. Come on, I want to see you die,” while retrieving a syringe from the container and brandishing it under Richard’s nose.
31
When Talya got back to the hotel, there were a few messages left in her room. Two of them looked urgent. There was one from Chantal and one from James in Vancouver. She dialled the Vancouver number first. She got Sabrina on the line almost immediately.
“Talya! Finally. James has been looking for you everywhere. We were wondering if someone had kidnapped you or worse. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks. And, no, I haven’t been kidnapped—yet.” Talya laughed inwardly. In fact, a handsome man had abducted her that very morning. “I was out visiting some friends today. Nothing to worry about. Is James available?”
“Yes. Hold on, I’ll tell him you’re calling.” The line went dead for a few seconds.
“Talya. Where are you?” James’s voice sounded a little worried and quite impatient. “We’ve been trying to locate you because I have some news for you. This may be important. I wanted you to have this information before you left for Dakar. How are you progressing with the Kankoon application by the way, have you filed it yet? And, have you heard from our friend, Mr. Savoi?”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had some information for me. I should’ve left a phone number with the hotel receptionist. Hassan filed the Kankoon application last night. And today we went to visit Mr. Sandros, one of the landowners. He’s Hassan’s father, as I mentioned when we talked about this last week, I believe.”
“Ah yes. Good. And what does Mr. Sandros want? What does he propose?”
“Well, as a matter of fact, he wants nothing right now…”
“That’s absurd. The man wants something, surely… Or what are you not telling me?”
“Only that Mr. Sandros, or his wife, I should say, is the owner of Kankoon…”
“What? How in the world…?”
“Simple. It took me a bit of time to figure this out, but I think Savoi played his cards very shrewdly. He actually called on every friend or acquaintance that he knew would trust him because he is the brother-in-law of the prime minister’s advisor. From there each deal was a cinch, and the twelve landowners are related one way or another. So, when Mr. Sandros’s name came out of the hat it wasn’t so surprising after all.”
“I see. But the question still remains, what are we looking at by way of reimbursement—and don’t say ‘nothing’ because I still won’t believe it.”
“The proposal calls for no reimbursement of the finders’ fee, because Mr. Sandros calls it ‘a worthwhile investment’. The only thing he wants…” Talya went on to explain what Yves wanted and why. James listened to her little exposé only interrupting her occasionally with an ‘and?’ or a ‘yes’.
“Okay, Talya. Will you do me a favour, and write a detailed report of this meeting as well as what we could reasonably expect as a proposal from the other owners?”
“Sure, I’ll do that—no problem. I’ll send it in the consulate’s pouch in a day or so with the copies of the Kankoon application.”
“That’s good. Now for my next question—any word from Savoi?”
“No. I haven’t heard a peep from Savoi or his niece. To tell you the truth, I don’t really know what’s happening with the two of them. From what we know, I can only conclude Rheza is gone to Dakar to find her uncle.”
“Perhaps you’re right…. Now let me tell you why I have called you in the first place. The Dutchman phoned me.”
“The Dutchman! Really?” Talya was surprised.
“Yes, and he told me there was some trouble brewing at a mine site in Senegal. I told him you were going to Dakar shortly and to get in touch with you tomorrow night, since I didn’t know where you were today.”
The Dutchman was a roving geologist, come trouble-shooter. Some sort of mercenary to the mining industry; he was often hired to uncover salting . Talya met him a while back during the Indonesian Debacle when she was working in Australia. Johan Van Burren always managed to be at the right place at the right time either to stir trouble or quash it without hesitation. His presence in Dakar, or his involvement in a mining project at any time, spelled trouble either way.
“I don’t believe it. Do you think he’s involved with Hjamal and his mine? He wouldn’t touch anything unless someone would pay for his services and he doesn’t come cheap…”
“Hold on, Talya, not so fast. He didn’t say he was involved in anything at the moment. He simply alerted me of “trouble brewing at a mine site,” to quote him. He didn’t say which mine site and he didn’t say much more than that. In fact, I thought he was fishing for information from me. And, I didn’t say anything about Savoi.”
“That’s good; because I don’t think telling the Dutchman about Savoi would serve any purpose until I locate him.”
“That’s why I didn’t say anything. When it comes to the Dutchman, you have to watch what you say, and you’d better remember that when you talk to him tomorrow.”
“Oh I will, don’t worry. But tell me something, did Hjamal ever tell you the name of his mining concession? Could it be the same plant as the one you visited when you were in Senegal last year?”
“Hjamal didn’t tell me, no. We never went that far in our discussions, but you know that, you were there. Although I think it must be the same site as the one I visited—it’s called Sabodala, by the way—because it’s the only processing plant under construction in Senegal.”
“So, does that mean Hjamal is the owner of this Sabodala?”
“Maybe, and unless we have proof to the contrary, that would be a fair assumption.”
“But you never met Hjamal when you were there last year?”
“No. I only met the mining engineer, and Jean-Claude chatted with the Dutchman…”
“So he was there last year?”
“Yes he was, Talya, but that doesn’t mean he’s still involved in that project.”
“I see….” What was the Dutchman doing in Sabodala?
“Anyway, we really didn’t talk to any one else that I can remember. Jean-Claude only suggested we visit the site on our trip back from Mali. We were on our way to Kedougou when we made a detour. We hadn’t been invited. We just dropped in, as it were.”
“You know, James, I have a hunch there may be a connection between Hjamal, Rasheed and Savoi, because why else would Savoi go to Dakar?”
“That’s a possibility, but we don’t know that for a fact and you should keep an open mind. Savoi must know quite a few people in Dakar so it may not be Hjamal he went to see.”
“I suppose. I’ll find out soon enough. It’s just a hunch.”
“Okay, I must go. Just give me a call when you’ve heard from the Dutchman tomorrow and let me know what his story is.”
“I’ll do that. In the meantime, would you tell Ken to expect my expense claim before I leave Bamako?”
“I hope you’ve been reasonable,” James said jokingly, “because you know him, he won’t accept anything out of the ordinary.” He was chuckling now.
“Oh, I know,” Talya replied, seeing Ken’s face in her mind’s eye when he read the claim. “Just tell him to deduct the few dresses I bought from Savoi’s next paycheque.”
James burst out in loud laughter then.
They spoke for a few more minutes about other projects that were waiting for Talya (the files were already on her desk apparently) and finally hung up. My phone bill will be horrendous. She could hear Ken’s remonstrance; “don’t you people ever use faxes or e-mail?”
Talya dialled Chantal’s number next. It had been a few days since she last heard from her. Chantal picked up the phone right away.
“Talya?”
“Yes…”
“I guessed it was you. I didn’t expect anyone else to call me at this time of night.”
“I’m very sorry, I know it’s late, but your message said to ring you back as soon as possible. So here I am. How are you? How’s Jean-Claude?”
“I’m fine. I’ve heard from him yesterday. He’s coming back next week.”
“Already? My goodness, that’s a bit quick isn’t it? He was under the knife only three weeks ago.”
“No! It’s not even soon enough, for me anyway. I don’t think I’m selfish, but I want him back to take care of him. My sister is a lovely woman but she works all day and I think Jean-Claude is doing too much on his own. I’m afraid he’s not resting enough. And he’s driving her crazy.” Chantal giggled nervously. “She’s not used to have a man about the house.”
“Well, if you think it’s best. I’ll be glad to see him again, although that may not be possible for a while. I’m going away next weekend.”
“Where? Dakar I bet. What have you been doing? Tell me what’s happening. Jean-Claude’s been asking after you and I didn’t know what to say. So, spill it out. What’s going on?”
“All right, all right here it goes…” Talya told her about her trip to paradise and a little bit about Hassan and she ended with the Dutchman’s call to James.
“Okay, when do I see you next, because all of that needs a bit more than a talk on the phone.” They agreed to have lunch together the next day.
When Talya hung up it was later yet. She got undressed, took a shower and when she lay back on the bed she heard her stomach grumble. Lunch was just a memory now. She ordered a sandwich from room service and began reading. Another hour went by. The phone rang.
“Talya? Hassan here, I’m sorry to ring so late, but I’ve just received a call from Mohammed.” Talya looked at the clock. It said 11:00PM. “Apparently the Canadian embassy in Dakar is looking for you.” Did he say the embassy? “Mohammed didn’t know we were at my father’s place today otherwise he would have contacted us there. There is trouble brewing in Dakar.” This must be a broken record. “Apparently your company is involved—”
“Hold on,” Talya interrupted, the broken record began to unsettle her thoughts. “I’ve learned there were some problems at a mine site in Senegal when I phoned James earlier this evening but he didn’t say anything about the embassy looking for me. In any case, we can’t do anything tonight. Let’s meet in the morning and go to Monsieur Fade’s office then.”
“Okay, but I still think this is serious and the soonest we know what’s going on the better off we’ll be.”
“Yes, I guess so, because the embassy wouldn’t be looking for anyone unless there was some urgency, but I think tomorrow is soon enough to respond to their call. So, let’s just settle down and you come and meet me in the morning for breakfast, how’s that?”
“That’ll be fine—” He hesitated. “Do you want me to come to the hotel and stay with you tonight?”
“Please. Let’s not start that again.” Talya was getting a little upset at this point. “We had a wonderful day together and let’s leave it at that, shall we? Besides, I need to be alone for a while. I’ll see you in the morning, would you mind?” She wanted to have time on her own. Hassan was getting too close. She was starting to buck. She wanted him off her back, for tonight anyway.
“All right, I’ll see you at seven-thirty tomorrow at the restaurant. Or, is that too early?”
“No. Seven-thirty is fine. Have a good night and thank you for the call. It is nice to know you care.”
“But, I do care, you know that. Anyway I’ll leave you be for now and say good night.”
They hung up and she breathed a sigh of relief that must have been audible in the corridor. Talya had enough.
32
Abdullah shuffled the sand in front of each step that were leading him to fishing boats beached haphazardly around a distant cove bathing in the early morning sunrays. He could hear the Imam call everyone to prayer.
The young fisherman wanted to ignore the arousing voice and reach Sam’s pirogue quickly. If he didn’t, he would miss this morning’s run. He hastened the pace. The Imam was urging the people to prostrate themselves in prayers. The boy was torn between responding to the harangue and his desire to allay some of his mother’s needs; being the eldest of many siblings, it was his duty to bring home some of the catch each night. He was running now. He wanted to distance himself from the Imam’s summons, but the chanting from the minaret was too strong. A pang of guilt hit him. Instantly, it seemed to plague his soul with shame; shame for being late, for putting his family’s needs before those of Allah.
Then, it happened. As if Allah wanted him to repent for ignoring the call to prayer, Abdullah tripped and fell to the ground. When he raised his face from the sand and shook his head, he saw the cause of his fall—a man, a body sprawled face down underneath his own. Horrified at the sight, the stench invading his lungs, he was mute—his lips quivered, but the words, the screams, would not come out of his mouth. He had never touched a dead man, let alone fell upon one.
Suddenly, sheer repulsion pulled him up to his feet and he began running and yelling and running and yelling: “Sam, please, Sam, please ... come and help,” but Sam was yet too far to hear his plea. Abdullah slowed down to catch his breath; he even stopped and looked back. He could still see the human shape escarping the beach like an incongruous remnant of a sand castle, the white hand clutched in a fist as if its owner wanton thoughts of vengeance beckoned beyond death. Abdullah turned away his heart pounding with uncontrollable terror, and ran without stopping, finally reaching Sam’s boat.
“The man is dead, Abdullah. We must not disturb him,” Sam said when he stood near the body of a well-dressed, white man laying on Yoff’s beach near a small fishing harbour, a mile away from Dakar’s airport.
33
Morning came far too soon. She was tired. The night had dragged on. Talya had not slept well. Her mind was running a hundred miles an hour but her body didn’t agree with the enforced exercise. When she reached the restaurant, Hassan was already waiting for her, impeccably dressed, as usual. Talya realized immediately that she was in a very bad mood. She liked to drink her coffee alone at that hour, especially when she had a wearisome night. However, there he was, looking pre-occupied. Now why is that, Talya wondered.
She sat down; put her purse and notebook on the chair beside her before she opened her mouth. “You’re here already? I thought we’d said 7:30. It’s not even 7:15 yet. Have you had breakfast?”
“Good Morning to you too, and no, I haven’t had breakfast. I don’t think we have time for it either.”
“What do you mean we don’t have time? It’s only 7:15. What’s the emergency?”
“I’ll tell you what the emergency is: I’ve received a call from the chief of police at six this morning. I definitely don’t like to be awakened by the chief of police at any time. But after the call from the embassy to Mohammed and your call from James, I think we should get going as soon as we can.”
“I see,” Talya said flatly, and ordered breakfast from the waiter standing beside the table. She wasn’t going to run out without some sustenance, no matter who was looking for her and for whatever reason.
“And what did the chief of police have to say for himself?”
“Talya, your attitude is going to get you in trouble. How can you sit here and eat at leisure when the police are expecting you.”
“The chief of police is expecting me, you say? Well, he could’ve come here or ring me (instead of you) if it was that urgent. We’re not going anywhere until I finish my breakfast in peace.”
“A man has been murdered, Talya. How’s that for urgent?”
“Who?” Talya stared. “I mean, who’s been murdered?” she blurted.
“The police are not releasing the name—but you’re involved…” In a sudden jerk, Talya dropped her cup of coffee on the table, splattering the hot brew everywhere. Instantly, they pulled away to avoid being sprayed. Talya hadn’t been quick enough. Her dress was a mess. The front of it was adorned with the large brown stain. Now she was truly annoyed.
“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she shouted in dismay, trying to sponge off the spilled coffee with her napkin, without much success.
She returned to staring at Hassan. “How? How could I be involved? I am here, for goodness’ sake, not in Dakar.”
At the fracas, the restaurant patrons turned their astonished gazes to them while the waiter practically bounced to their rescue. “Madame Kartz, are you all right? Let me change all this for you.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry about the mess,” she muttered, still wiping the front of her dress nervously. “How?” Talya repeated, looking up from her dress to Hassan, who shook his head a smirk coming across his lips.
I must admit the whole scene is rapidly turning into a slapstick comedy.
When the waiter had changed the table linen and replaced dishes and cutlery, they sat down again. The coffee blotch was sticking to her thighs. Talya would have to go and change, but for now she couldn’t help but eating some more.
“The chief hasn’t given me any details except for the fact that your name was scribbled on a letter that was found in this man’s pocket.” Talya was agape. “He wanted to phone you, but I told him I’d take care of it. I thought it’d be better to tell you myself.”
“Again I’m sorry, Hassan. I haven’t slept well last night. All these calls kept haunting me. Of course, this morning I was going to make you pay for it.” She smiled.
“As I said, you’re asking for trouble.” He returned the smile.
After devouring another croissant, under the amused gape of her lawyer, and gulping down some coffee, Talya said, “You’ll have to excuse me, but I’ve got to go and change. I can’t go anywhere like this,” showing the stain on her dress as she rose from her seat.
“Go ahead, I’ll wait …”

34
An hour later, they were sitting in the chief of police’s office located on the third floor of an old converted house near the centre of town. There was just enough space in the room to fit his metal desk, wooden chairs and a row of filing cabinets. Obviously, the government wasn’t spending much on their Police Department. One more piece of furniture and the chief would’ve had to work in the corridors. Omar Diallo was a round and jovial fellow much like the Michelin Man. His podgy face was gentle like his smile but his eyes were keen and observant.
Not a speck of dirt or a bit of information or a cunning glance would be lost on this man.
He wasted no time to tell them that they had nothing to worry about—the matter was “simple,” he said (!)
He opened the thin folder in front of him and began reading from what Talya gathered was a report from the Dakar Police officials.
Hassan and Talya were sitting across from him, their staring gazes not leaving his face.
“A fisherman’s boy has found the body of a Caucasian man on Yoff’s beach near Dakar’s airport. The man was dressed in a two-piece, very expensive Italian suit. He was in his thirties and showed no signs of being in a fight prior to his death. He died of a heart attack apparently, (probably induced by a drug overdose). He had various items in the coat pockets such as a letter on which the name of Talya Kartz was mentioned in connection with Carmine Resources. The name of the victim has not been released to the public as yet—the family has not been notified.”
The chief closed the folder, looking from one to the other. “However, since you are somehow involved in this crime, Madame Kartz, the Department decided to tell you that the corpse was the one of a fellow by the name of Richard Gillman.” He stopped and waited, watching for their reactions. Hassan and Talya looked at each other.
Talya couldn’t figure this out. “Who is, or was Richard Gillman?”
“I must admit, at first, we had no idea. The man had a valid Canadian passport on him and from it, we learned that he’d stayed both in Mali and in Senegal for extended periods of time and returned to this continent last December and landed in Mauritania.”
Talya leaned forward—she was even more puzzled now. “Mauritania? What was he doing there?”
“That was the question, yes.”
“Did you find out?”
“Yes, but not until my colleagues in Dakar contacted the Canadian officials that we had some sort of indication as to why he came to West Africa. He was a metallurgist engaged by a Canadian company to carry out some tests, or engineering type of work—we’re not sure at this time—on various mine sites in Mali and in Senegal.”
“When did he land in Senegal then?”
“We’re not clear on that point, Madame Kartz. Anyway, what concerns us for now is the fact that the man had a letter on his person when he died. It was addressed to ‘whom it may concern’ and not dated precisely although it appeared to have been written some months prior to his death. Apparently the letter is pointing the finger at the killer but not implicating anyone directly.”
“Do you have a copy of the letter?”
“No, Madame Kartz. We were asked to wait until your Consul gives you a copy before receiving one ourselves.”
“Any reason for that?” Hassan was quicker on the uptake on this one.
“Only that Monsieur Gillman and Madame Kartz are both Canadian citizens. Diplomatic courtesy in Mali demands that we give the Consul priority to interview witnesses prior to obtaining a statement.”
I doubt the same courtesy would be extended in Canada to a citizen of Mali, but maybe, who knows?
“Will Madame Kartz be required to give a statement?”
“Not to us, Maitre. She happens to be in Mali as a visitor and the crime has occurred in Senegal. So, that’s where the statement will have to be made. Unless Madame Kartz does not go through Dakar on her way back to Vancouver, then we would take her statement here and transmit it to the Dakar Police.”
Having a legal advisor at your side serves a purpose—Hassan was asking all the logical questions, but Talya had one or two of her own.
“Chief, do you know how my name was ‘used in connection with Carmine’?”
“We don’t know, at least I don’t. There were no more details than what was in the report I’ve read to you.”
“I see. One more question; I understand I’m involved in this affair somehow, but I wasn’t in Dakar when the crime was committed, so why should I have to give a statement at all?”
“As you say, Madame Kartz, you’re involved. How far that involvement has gone we won’t know until we read the letter. So, I suggest we refrain from speculating on whatever is needed to be done until we know more.”
“Do you know if the Consul is ready to meet with us?”
“Yes, Maitre, he is. As a matter of fact he’s called this office an hour ago requesting that you go and see him as soon as we were finished here.”
Hassan got up and said, “Thank you for your time, Chief. If you need Madame Kartz at any time, please contact me first at my office. You have my co-ordinates, I believe?”
“Yes I do, and I’ll be in touch as soon as I have anything to report or if I need Madame Kartz to answer some more questions.” The Chief rose and they shook hands.
What about my questions? I guess they would have to wait.
Talya stood up also and they took their leave.
Hassan and Talya came out of Monsieur Diallo’s office with one question in mind—one of many but one, which was at the forefront of all the rest: Who was Richard Gillman? They were soon to find out.
35
During the short drive between the police station and the consulate, Hassan looked at Talya every chance he got. “Do you know if Carmine has ever hired a metallurgist?”
“I really don’t know, but it wouldn’t make sense. Carmine isn’t producing any gold from any mines—not yet anyway. It’s an exploration company, which means a metallurgist would have no place with us.”
Hassan didn’t make any comments. He seemed to concentrate on driving through traffic, but Talya knew better. He was probably reviewing, as she was, all the possible ramifications or problems her involvement could engender.
They had been invited to attend the meeting at the Consul’s house rather than his office in town. A guard in uniform met them at the gate. He told Hassan to go up the driveway and park near the front door where they would find someone waiting to escort them directly to the Consul’s office.
The French mansion, recalling the grandiose architecture of the Second Empire—Louis Phillipe would be my guess—was located on the outskirts of the business district. It was set a little way from the street and surrounded by sumptuous estate gardens.
Although Talya knew the Consul had a letter to show them and perhaps wanted some clarification as to her apparent connection with Richard Gillman, she had to admit that she was apprehensive.
Once inside, they went up the wide marble steps to reach the Consul’s office. Talya had no idea what was waiting for them behind an imposing brace of redwood doors. She tried to persuade herself not to worry.
At the top of the staircase, a tall, white hair gentleman opened the door of a spacious office. He addressed them in French with a distinctive Quebec accent, and asked them to go in and wait for the Consul to arrive. The room must have been an anteroom at one time. The high ceiling was trimmed with hand carved wooden borders. Sparse antique furniture stood proudly over thick Chinese silk rugs, partly masking the parquet floor. There were three Italian crystal lamps standing on each of the low side tables and matching the overhead chandelier. There was a Canadian flag on the right side of the Consul’s Directoire desk. The portrait of Queen Elizabeth II hung on the wall to the left of it. The French doors on the right opened onto a large terrace. From where they stood, Talya could see the umbrellas of the many trees populating the luxuriant garden below. A delicate magenta bougainvillea encroached onto the white heavy stone balustrade, calling you to come closer and admire its resplendent beauty descending to the ground beneath the terrace. They waited for the Consul.
He came in through the door from which they had entered and spoke to the man who had escorted them. They didn’t hear what was said. Moments later a young lady entered the room with a tray, which she deposited carefully on one of the side tables. On the tray, there was a cafetière, matching cups and saucers and some langues de chat and lemon Madeleines.
After closing the door behind him and on the woman who brought in the refreshments, the Consul crossed the floor with a purposeful stride. He carried a large envelope, which he handed to Talya directly. He looked at her appreciatively and with a slight bow, he said, “My name is Aaron Broughton and I’m delighted to meet you, Ms Kartz. Your employers have spoken highly of you.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. Broughton,” Talya replied.
He then turned to Hassan. They shook hands. “Maitre, it’s a pleasure meeting you. Please sit down both of you.” He indicated the Directoire chairs facing his desk while he went around it and sat down.
He was a tall man. He must have been in his late forties.
“Thank you for coming in,” he began. “I know this was quite an unusual request, but this is a highly unusual situation and our ambassador in Dakar needed some clarification as to your involvement in this affair.” Maybe the light blue eyes and blonde hair made him look younger than he really was. “The letter contained in the envelope you have in your hand came to me by courier this morning. Apart from your name written on top of the original page, which has been deleted, the content of the letter is a true copy of the message that was found on Mr. Gillman’s person.” His tanned face was stern. “As for the content, I think you should read it first and then, if you judge it is necessary for you to show it to Maitre Sangor, I shall have a copy made for you, sir,” he concluded, turning to Hassan.
Although the man’s outward appearance seemed casual and carefree, his body language wasn’t. He was stiff as a rod.
He reclined in his seat. “As you can appreciate, this document is strictly confidential and will be read only by the persons directly concerned with the death of Richard Gillman.” He waited for Talya to execute his order—to read the letter.
Aaron Broughton was a diplomat, but diplomacy and tact were not an obvious part of his behaviour.
Talya opened the envelope, took out several pages of hand-written paper and began reading:
To whom it may concern:
An Australian born, Canadian based metallurgist, in April.... accepted a contract to work in Senegal. The Senegalese company, Minorex Afrique, met the metallurgist and immediately asked for his passport, presumably to have the correct immigration procedures registered and settled. However, the passport was not returned and the metallurgist thought it was a procedure that had occurred previously, as all the officials seemed to be content. Unfortunately, upon arrival in Dakar, one bag was missing. The company officials of Minorex told the metallurgist that they would continue to seek the luggage and give it to him. With that in mind, they left for the company president’s home, where the metallurgist was shown to a room where he could sleep after the long journey from Canada, the origin of the contact. The Minorex Company president was emphatic in regards to procuring the services of the metallurgist, in order to replace the existing foreigner, a Dutch expert, who was considered to be “too old for the job.” The metallurgist refused, as it was considered unprofessional to accept a job while working under contract. Upon his refusal to accept the offer, the metallurgist had dinner with the company president and was then told he was to leave immediately for the site, some 900 kilometres from the city, close to the Mali and Guinean borders. Upon arrival, some 14 hours after leaving Dakar, the metallurgist inspected the site and found that no equipment (ball mill and crusher) had been delivered for installation. After a period of about 14 days, the ball mill arrived. Inspection found that many parts were missing, as was the delivery and dispatch advice. The metallurgist assumed that either the supplier or receiver had misplaced the parts, e.g. the mill door, bolts and nuts etc. During this time, a Canadian company, Carmine Resources and their president, James Flaubert, who showed interest in the property, visited the site. They spent some hours on site and never again contacted the metallurgist. They were aware of his existence in Senegal but not aware of the following incidents that occurred. The supplier was written a report outlining the missing articles but the Senegalese company did not, for some reason, remit this report to the supplier. The metallurgist therefore had to mount the mill with the length of string and a metric tape. The mills positioning was within 3 mm lengthwise and perfectly level. The quality of the work was confirmed by a French mechanical engineer also working for Minorex. The crusher story was of more interest. Material availability was non-existent. Steel availability amounted to 4mm thick plate. After completion of major works, an agreement was made where the expatriate Dutch expert would complete the finer details of the crusher, the metallurgist made arrangements to leave for Dakar and then on to Toronto. Alas, the Senegalese company had different ideas. The consultant was coerced into staying at the mine site, specifying and installing a gold-fire-assay lab, to satisfy the alleged government’s officials' visit. The lab equipment arrived some weeks after the company’s promised date and the metallurgist installed the lab in 3 hours. Again, the metallurgist endeavoured to leave and send information to his contact in Canada, who supplied the major equipment. Again, the company in Senegal did not remit his faxes unbeknown to the metallurgist. No communication existed from the remote area and the metallurgist had to rely on the company, 900 kilometres away in Dakar.
Due to the absence of the mill door, the metallurgist found an excuse to return to Dakar to make a new door. This he did spending two days in Dakar. The second day, the company representative arrived at the factory stating that the door and other parts were to leave that night and the parts were quickly placed into a Toyota utility without checking, and the metallurgist, together with the parts was quickly dispatched to the site overnight. With over 1.5 tonnes of equipment in a vehicle of 1 tonne capacity, the journey was dangerously quick up till midway, when the metallurgist, fearing for his safety, left the vehicle about 4 hours from Dakar. He spent the night in the town and returned to Dakar’s Terranga hotel in the morning. He immediately contacted Toronto to arrange transport back to Ecuador where the metallurgist lived prior to coming to West Africa. The Toronto Company advised him to stay in his room and they would confirm in two hours his method of return. Unfortunately, they advised the Senegalese agent in Miami, who quickly advised the Senegalese company. Within minutes, the metallurgist was visited by the Minorex people and was taken against his will to the company’s president’s house. Following interrogation, he was forcibly abducted to the site some 900 kilometres away. The Toronto Company had again lost contact with their consultant in Senegal. The overnight trip was fraught with aggressive and forceful attacks on the metallurgist, with threats of drug injection and death threats for the misbehaviour exhibited in the Terranga hotel. It was then the metallurgist realized the extent and dangerous nature of the company’s aggressive approach and the desperate measure they would take to overcome the obvious problems they were having in Senegal. Following arrival at the camp, the metallurgist was assigned to another room, without air conditioning and the normal commodities experienced earlier. Following several weeks of psychological and physical hardship, the metallurgist was told he was to go to Dakar. He was placed in a 4-wheel drive and taken to Tabacounda, some 200 kilometres down the road to Dakar. Late in the night, a female joined the group of four and they proceeded to drive for some 12 hours in various directions at various speeds, finally stopping in the morning in a zone close to Dakar - possibly Rufiske. The female left the vehicle and the metallurgist was taken to a doctor’s surgery, apparently to undergo a physical examination. The metallurgist was given, forcibly and against his will, injections, which, to this day, still cause pain in his left arm. Following a period of unknown time, the metallurgist, with inflamed forearm, was taken back to the site and placed in another room away from the central area, where policies relating to the day to day proceedings were supposedly discussed. The Senegalese company preoccupied with notions of sabotage, spying, from the various mining companies working in the country and the Senegalese government officials (including police). Mineral processing of gold appeared secondary.
With a badly injured foot, possibly broken, caused by a fruitless escape attempt, and severely bruised forearm, the metallurgist realized his problems were severe and knew that eventually his company in Toronto would have, by now, taken action. The lack of adequate food and living condition were affecting his physical condition severely. In fact, the Toronto Company had reported the supposed incident of the Terranga hotel to the embassy and several weeks passed before a missionary group visited the camp and established contact with the metallurgist. It was this group that contacted the embassy and enabled a rescue attempt to be made by the Senegalese government police force. The police took the metallurgist to the Ministry of Interior, where the metallurgist met with the representative of the Canadian government and measures were taken to airlift the subject out of Senegal. Special arrangements were made with the various governments to obtain new passports and visas.
Today this metallurgist does not know if he will survive his trip back to Ecuador. So, he is depositing this letter with the Canadian embassy in Dakar before leaving the city. The threats of murder still linger in the mind of the metallurgist and naturally he is concerned for his safety, as you may possibly understand.
Hoping this report will not be a fruitless exercise,
Sincerely yours,
Richard Gillman.

36
Talya replaced the letter in the envelope. Words eluded her. She had the strange sensation that she had just read something that hadn’t been written but filmed, captured on camera. The fact that it had been written in the third person was probably the reason for her experiencing virtual reality when reading Richard Gillman’s message.
She needed to get out from under the consul’s querying gaze. His scrutiny was bothersome. He moved forward to put his elbows on the desk.
He fiddled with a pen for a moment and then said, “Of course, you know the name of the President of that Senegalese Company?”
“No, I don’t know it, not for a fact.”
“Ms Kartz, don’t play games!” What does he mean by that? “Monsieur Hjamal is the President of Minorex and you’ve met him when he came to see you in Canada.”
Talya didn’t like being called a liar under any circumstance, but to be assaulted in such fashion by her own Consul was a little more than she expected or wanted right at the moment.
She was offended, and let him have it all barrels firing. “Mr. Broughton. I have no intention of playing games, as you put it. I’ve come here in some ignorance of the events, which have occurred during the past 48 hours. Yes, I have met Monsieur Hjamal in Vancouver when he came to visit our company, but no, I didn’t know he was the President of Minorex since he never left any documentation—not even a business card—to prove his connection with this company. The phone number he left with me was a direct line to his office. That’s the extent of my knowledge as far as this Minorex Afrique is concerned.”
“Thank you, Ms Kartz. I’m sorry if I sounded a little abrupt a moment ago”—Abrupt, he says, try offensive—“but the situation is quite unsettling for us. Of course, your comments did clarify a few points.”
Talya could see that he was not completely satisfied with her explanation. Something else bothered him.
“May I ask if you are aware of your President being at the mine site at the time mentioned in the letter and if he met Richard Gillman while on site?” He shifted his bottom from side to side on the seat. The man was definitely uncomfortable with himself.
“Yes, I believe Mr. Flaubert traveled to West Africa at that time, but I do not believe he had ever met Monsieur Hjamal prior to his coming to Vancouver. As I recall, both acted as total strangers when they were introduced. As for meeting Mr. Gillman, I cannot be sure. Mr. Flaubert mentioned he had spoken to ‘an engineer’ when we last broached the subject.”
“I’m sorry to have troubled you, Ms Kartz, but these questions demanded answers. We have informed Mr. Flaubert of the events and we are expecting his answer tonight. Now, would you like for Maitre Sangor to have a copy of the letter?”
“Yes, of course.”
Hassan had been respectfully silent, and after reading the letter Talya had handed to him, he looked positively baffled. This was all new to her friend. She gathered he never had to deal with this sort of international incident before that morning. It was a first for Talya as well, let alone a murder.
“Am I correct in assuming that Mr. Gillman died at the hands of a stranger and not just as a result of an accident?” Hassan asked.
“Yes, you are correct, Maitre. When the coroner in Dakar has completed his autopsy, we will be able to ascertain the circumstances surrounding Mr. Gillman’s death. In the meantime, if you have any further questions regarding Mr. Gillman, I suggest you direct all of your queries to the chief of police, whom you’ve met a while ago.”
Switching her attention from the envelope in her lap to the consul, Talya said, “We understand this is now a police matter and we also understand this event occurred outside of your territory. But there are several issues in the letter that warrant clarification, other than my involvement in this affair.”
“Pray tell, which issues are these?” The consul frowned.
“As the letter states, Mr. Broughton, there are two companies involved in this matter besides Carmine. What are these people doing right now? Who are the people involved? Is there anyone in Mali who has some information regarding the work contracted to Mr. Gillman in this country? And, last but not least, how is it possible that Mr. Gillman returned to Senegal after going through such an ordeal first time round?”
His eyes didn’t leave the blotter on his desk when Mr. Broughton answered, “As I said to Maitre Sangor just now, these sorts of queries should all be addressed to the police either here or in Dakar.” Lifting his face to Talya, he added, “If I avoid giving you any of the answers you are seeking, Ms Kartz, it is because we are all in the dark. We only have very few facts in hand—your name scribbled in the margin of the letter, for one thing, and your company’s name being mentioned in the text, for another.” He returned to fiddling with his pen. “As for the other companies, we only know that they had a business relationship with Minorex at the time Richard Gillman was held hostage. That’s all the facts we have for the moment.” Sure! Talya thought.
Putting the pen down, Mr. Broughton pushed the chair away from the desk and looked at Talya and Hassan in turn. “We didn’t know how or why you are involved in this matter. And, since you are in some way associated with the very same people who may have caused Mr. Gillman’s demise, we wanted not only to question your involvement but to alert you of the dangers that you may be facing in Dakar.”
“Let me ask you this then: Richard said in his letter that he was depositing it with the embassy…. Do you know if they in fact received this message?” Talya asked.
“Not that I’m aware of. But if they did, our ambassador never said so when I talked to him last.”
His manner had come down a notch or two. The stiff upper-lip was slowly receding into a gentler smile. That’s more like it. And it was time for her to simmer down. As for Hassan, he clearly didn’t want to intervene.
They talked a while longer mostly about the weather in Canada. Canadians seem to do that a lot when they’re overseas. They had coffee and ‘took a break’, the Canadian way. Hassan joined into the conversation a few times and asked many questions about their country, particularly about Vancouver.

37
They left an hour later after receiving another copy of the letter in a sealed envelope. As they walked to Hassan’s car, Talya was lost in thought. She couldn’t help feeling that Richard Gillman omitted to say something in his message. It had been very important—vital in fact. She couldn’t think what that something was for the moment, however. She would have to wait until she took another virtual tour of the letter to find out.
When they got back to the Grand Hotel, Chantal was sitting in the lobby, expecting them. It was almost lunchtime, and seeing her reminded Talya that she had a date with her.
Chantal got up and walked toward them, she looked harassed. “Talya, finally! Where have you been?”
“Everywhere, Chantal, but, let me introduce you to Maitre Hassan Sangor. Hassan, this is Madame Gauthier.”
“Enchanté, Madame Gauthier. How are you?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Maitre, and it’s a pleasure,” Chantal replied mechanically. Then turning to Talya, “I have been worried sick about you. The police paid me a visit this morning and told me there has been a murder in Dakar. I didn’t know what to think. I didn’t want to bother Jean-Claude.” Then, brushing a quick glance by Hassan’s face, and shaking her head, “I am sorry, Maitre, but I phoned your office also. Since I couldn’t reach either of you, I decided to come here and wait for you.”
“We shouldn’t talk in the lobby. Let’s go up to my room,” Talya said, leading the way up the stairs. She didn’t know if Hassan would follow them, but whether he would, didn’t seem important—she had other things on her mind besides observing Islamic etiquette.
Follow he did, however, and was already asking questions of Chantal. He was impatient, as Talya was, to get to the bottom of this mire. “Madame Gauthier, at what time did the police come to see you?”
They had almost reached the room when Chantal answered, “Oh, it must have been around ten o’clock.”
Talya unlocked the door, dropped her bag on the bed and asked both of them to sit down anywhere they pleased. She was doing away with formalities. She really didn’t care at this point whether they stood, sat or lay down.
Hassan took up the conversation where he left off. “Tell me, Madame Gauthier, what did the officer ask? What did he say, precisely—to the best of your recollection?”
Talya didn’t want to interrupt. She sat in one of the chairs by the window. Chantal and Hassan had decided to sit on the bed.
“Yes, Maitre, but before I answer, I think there is something you should know. Jean-Claude is involved in this matter as well. I didn’t want to phone him before I spoke to Talya and before we had a chance to get together.”
Talya was surprised at the suggestion. “I didn’t know Jean-Claude was involved with anything in Senegal?—apart from the trip he took with James last year, of course.”
“But that’s just it. James and Jean-Claude went to Senegal together. I was still in Brussels. I don’t remember all of the details; I’ve been trying to recall the date when they went away. Jean-Claude has all of his diaries with him in Brussels, so I can’t be sure, but I think it would’ve been around the middle of May last year.”
The timing, as approximate as it were, fitted with dates mentioned in the letter. “April … 14… days later, the ball mill arrived. …During this time, the site was visited by a Canadian company…” It coincided with James’s description of their visit at Sabodala.
“Now, to answer your question, Maitre,” Chantal continued, returning her gaze to Hassan, “The officer was very curt, even terse with me. He simply advised me that he would need to talk to Jean-Claude as soon as he came back. He said he’d been told that my husband and our president, I mean, James, had visited a mine-site in Senegal last year and that his name was mentioned in a letter that was found on the body of a murdered man. He also said the dead man was an engineer who’d worked in Mali and in Senegal, and he wanted to know if Jean-Claude had any knowledge of this man’s professional engagements in Mali. The officer didn’t say who the man was. Maybe if he had mentioned his name, I could’ve told him if I knew him or if Jean-Claude had ever spoken of him even in passing…. I thought that perhaps you had more information about this than what the officer told me. Anyway, I couldn’t call Jean-Claude before I knew more. I don’t want to worry him for nothing.”
“Talya, would you mind if I told Madame Gauthier the story?” He was looking at her now. “It would give me a chance to put all these events in some kind of order in my own mind. Also, do you want Madame Gauthier to read the letter?”
“Sure. I think she’ll understand a lot more when she reads it.”
Talya got up from her seat and went to the telephone. Her appetite was on the rise again. With this appetite of mine, I should be a blimp by now.
“I’ll get some drinks sent up from the bar and maybe some sandwiches,” Talya said distractedly as she dialled the room service number.
Chantal turned toward her. “Is that the same letter the officer mentioned?”
“The very same,” Talya replied.
“Yes, it is,” Hassan said. “But first let me tell you what we know, and how Talya is involved…” He went on explaining how they were called to both the police station and the Canadian consulate to answer questions about Talya’s name being scribbled in the margin of Richard Gillman’s letter, which he finally handed to Chantal. She began reading.
Talya ordered lunch, returned to her chair and waited for Chantal to finish reading.
Something suddenly caught her eye; out there, beneath the window, the white Mercedes—the only mother-of-pearl Mercedes in the whole of Bamako. Rheza’s car was in the parking lot. Talya practically ran to the door, flung it open, hurried down the hallway, tumbled down the stairs and came to a stop in front of an amazed receptionist.
“Madame Kartz, what is it? What’s going on? May I help you?”
“You probably could, Monsieur Dia. I have just seen Madame Rheza McLean’s car in the parking lot, has she been in?”
“No, Madame Kartz, I haven’t seen Madame McLean in days.”
In the meantime, Hassan and Chantal had come down, wondering what had bitten her. Talya briefly told them what she had seen. Hassan went outside to examine the car. He walked around it, peered through the side-windows and came back to the lobby where Chantal and Talya were still standing.
“Yes, that’s her car.” He turned to the clerk and spoke in Bambara. Monsieur Dia answered with restraint and concern in his voice. Hassan turned to Talya and told them that a man came during the night, he was driving the Mercedes and he was staying at the hotel. “His name is Abdul Rasheed,” he whispered in Talya’s ear.
What the…? Incredible…
You could have knocked her down with a feather.
“Abdul Rasheed. Here? In this hotel?” Talya was unable to contain her amazement. “The man is not short on guts. What the hell is he doing here? Please, excuse my language both of you.” She was stunned.
“Let’s go back to the room and decide what we should do next.” She took Chantal’s hand to lead her away quickly before she had time to react or add to Talya’s conspicuous outburst.
At that moment, George, the bartender came out of the lounge carrying a large tray full of sandwiches and a jug of orange juice, and approached the three of them.
“Madame Kartz, shall I take these to your room or would you like to eat downstairs at the bar?”
“Would you mind taking the tray upstairs? Thank you. We shall have lunch in my room.”
“By the way, ma’am, there was a Monsieur Rasheed asking for you this morning.”
“Did he now?”
“I told him you’d gone out early and I didn’t know when you’d return. Shall I tell him to call on you the next time I see him?”
It took a couple of seconds for the implication of this statement to register, and before Talya could reply. “No, George, it would be better if you just leave it up to him to find me, Okay?”
“No problem. I haven’t seen you all day.” He smiled and winked. He knew instantly that Talya didn’t want to be found.
The three of them climbed the stairs back to her room, George in tow. Chantal still had the letter in her hand. Once in the room, George deposited the tray on the table by the window and left the room discreetly.
Sitting down on the bed once again, Chantal said, “I really don’t know what to say, Talya. Apart from the fact that James and Jean-Claude went to Senegal last year and visited a property that seemed promising; I can’t see how we are any more involved?”
Hassan went to stand by the desk and looked at the two women in turn.
“But we are, Chantal, we are,” Talya said. “Not you personally of course, but Jean Claude and James are involved because they talked to Richard Gillman when they were in Sabodala—the same property mentioned in the letter. And as you’ve read, Richard was the engineer on site at the time.” Talya poured herself a glass of juice. “And Mr. Rasheed, the man whose name was mentioned downstairs a few minutes ago, is Monsieur Hjamal’s assistant (or he introduced himself as such) and Monsieur Hjamal is the President of Minorex.”
“You don’t say,” Chantal said wide-eyed.
Talya held out a hand and continued, “Wait. There is more. This Rasheed fellow, as you’ve heard, is staying here, in this hotel. He arrived last night apparently and he was driving Rheza’s car. And, we all know who Rheza is, don’t we?”
“...you mean Mr. Savoi is the missing link?”
“Exactly! Months ago, Richard Gillman was kidnapped, maltreated, and repatriated. Two days ago, he re-appears dead on a beach in Dakar. Then the police find my name scribbled in the margin of the letter you’ve just read. And now, Hjamal’s assistant is driving Rheza’s car looking for me….”
Throughout the next few minutes, the three of them remained silent. They needed to eat their lunch and digest this new turn of events. Hassan, as usual, ate very little. Obviously, he didn’t like sandwiches. He didn’t fancy western food. He preferred rice and vegetables. On the opposite end of the scale, Chantal and Talya couldn’t stop eating until the tray was bare.
Talya emptied her glass. “What do you suggest we do now?”
Hassan began pacing the floor, looking out the window. “May I use your phone?” He seemed to have come to a decision.
“Of course—who are you calling?” Talya asked.
“Mohammed.”
“Mohammed Fade? Why?”
“Think, Talya. Why would I want to ring Mohammed?”
“...Because Monsieur Fade knows Abdul Rasheed?”
“Madame Gauthier, would you give Talya a gold star? She found the answer all by herself,” Hassan said as he reached for the phone on the desk.
“It’ll be my pleasure, Maitre.” Chantal giggled and Talya smiled, although she was much too pre-occupied to find any of this amusing. They watched Hassan dial the phone number.
“Mohammed? ...Thank you. I’m fine, and you? I’m with Talya and Madame Gauthier at the Grand Hotel. Yes, we did…. No, she doesn’t…. I suppose so….”
Talya hated these one-way conversations. You always have to guess what is said at the other end of the line.
“...Did you know that Rasheed drove here last night in Rheza’s Mercedes?” Yet Talya did hear Monsieur Fade’s outburst at the mention of Rasheed’s name in connection with his niece.
They watched Hassan listen intently for a long moment. “Okay, we should be able to come down in an hour or so….” Then he hung up after a few courteous words in Bambara.
Chantal and Talya were looking at Hassan, with bated breath, waiting for him to tell them what Mohammed Fade had said.
“Mohammed is expecting you and me, Talya, in an hour at his office.” Hassan sat on the bed once again. “He said the ambassador has called him this morning and he (the ambassador) expected a call from James Flaubert tonight to explain his presence at the mine site last year. He’ll probably question James at length regarding his meeting with Richard Gillman. Also, as you two must have guessed, Mohammed didn’t know about Rasheed being here. He said that we should be leery of the man and try to avoid meeting him before we had a chance to talk.”
Chantal stood up and smiled at Talya. She looked sorry for herself when her name wasn’t called to go and see Monsieur Fade.
“I’ll go home and phone Jean-Claude right now. He’ll tell me what’s happened at the site last year. I should be able to report to you when you get back from Monsieur Fade’s office.”
Talya stared at Hassan. “Why did Monsieur Fade specify that only you and me should go and see him?”
“We cannot involve Madame Gauthier in all of this, Talya. We’re not in a theatre, playing a part. This is reality. We cannot endanger anyone else.”
“So, you still think there is more to this than meets the eye?”
“Definitely, don’t you?”
“Yes, perhaps I do. But I don’t want to over-dramatize the whole affair.”
“Over-dramatize! Talya, a man is dead. Your company is involved. James and you both know the suspects—because Hjamal and Rasheed are just that: suspects in a murder case. What’s more you’re intending to go and face these two. What could be more dramatic than that? You’ve heard what the consul said. He clearly wanted to warn you of the impending dangers that your trip to Dakar may bring about. As far as I’m concerned, I would like you to take this business a little more seriously. Ultimately, I think it very unwise to involve Madame Gauthier more than she is already through her husband.”
Of course, Hassan was right. Talya shouldn’t play the story down but she didn’t want it blown out of proportion either.
“Okay but let’s keep everything into perspective.” Didn’t I say that before?
Chantal was standing by the door, her hand on the doorknob and ready to leave. “Hassan is right, Talya, and you know it. If anything should happen to either of you, I should be home ready to help and not underfoot just because I like the excitement.”
“All right, all right, both of you. But you’ll ring me tonight to let me know what Jean-Claude said, okay?”
“Of course, but I must go now. You kids take care of yourselves …” and, she was gone. Kids? Did she really say that?
Talya then called the busboy to come up and take the empty tray and both she and Hassan went down with him. In the next few minutes, they were on their way once more to Monsieur Fade’s office. Having never had the displeasure of meeting Monsieur Rasheed, Talya couldn’t tell if he was observing her leaving the hotel or not. Too late now.
38
By three o’clock, Talya and Hassan were sitting in Monsieur Fade’s office. As usual, the man had the phone receiver hanging from his ear. He looked troubled. The person at the other end of the line didn’t seem to allay any of his anxieties. His attitude was tense and fidgety. At last, he hung up and swivelled his chair toward his two visitors.
“I’ve just finished talking to Monsieur Rasheed.”
“You what?” Hassan said, lifting an eyebrow incredulously.
“You’ve heard me correctly the first time. I don’t want to repeat myself.” Monsieur Fade threw a sharp glance in his friend’s direction. Hassan bowed his head not to return the glare.
“As I was saying, Hassan, I’ve just finished talking to Abdul Rasheed. And as you’ve told me, he’s in Mali looking for Madame Kartz.” He looked at Talya pointedly. “The pretext I used to call him was that he had been seen driving my niece’s car and since I hadn’t heard from her in some time, I told him I was a little worried.”
Talya’s curiosity was mounting. “And what did Rasheed have to say to that?”
“He was very vague. He said he had talked to Rheza a couple of days ago. She was still in Dakar then, and she had been searching for her uncle. He said she had not found him yet and wanted to come back to Mali with him. Apparently, she suggested for him to take the car across the border while she took a flight back. So according to him, Rheza should have arrived in Bamako yesterday.”
Hassan unbuttoned his jacket. “Have you checked if Rheza has returned home yet?”
“No, not yet I haven’t. I phoned her children every morning to inquire about their mother, and the reply has been the same for nearly three weeks now. Rheza is still in Dakar.”
“I have no doubt she is still in Dakar,” Hassan agreed, while taking his jacket off and putting it on the back of his chair. “But I doubt Rheza would lend her car to such a person or would leave Dakar without finding her uncle. I am also certain that she would have phoned her children if she had any intention of coming back.”
“Those are my exact thoughts. I’m sorry if I was cross with you earlier, Hassan, but this whole affair has me on edge.” Monsieur Fade then reclined in his seat and reflected, “If I had borrowed a car to bring it anywhere on behalf of someone, I would’ve contacted that person immediately when I arrived, and return the property without delay. I certainly wouldn’t have gone to the hotel and park the car without alerting the person’s family first.”
While listening to the exchange, Talya became impatient to bring this matter to a head. She wanted to know what brought Rasheed to town. “What about meeting with Abdul Rasheed before I leave?”
Hassan’s mouth fell open. “Talya! Why do you always have to precipitate the inevitable?”
“Why not? The man has the answers we’re looking for—at least some of them—and I would have thought you would be the first person to seek a meeting with him.”
Hassan looked at Talya curiously—was she asking him to confront Rasheed?
He shrugged, dismissing her comments.
“Mohammed, I think Talya is in danger. And, I’m not joking, nor am I over-dramatizing…” He shot a meaningful glance in Talya’s direction. “I’m just worried about her safety, so I’ve decided to stay at the Grand tonight. If nothing else, I’ll be more comfortable knowing I’m near her.”
Talya didn’t like their offhand manner. When it came to her safety or liberty of movements, she usually liked to be consulted before anyone made a decision on her behalf. Her approval had been tacit as far as Hassan was concerned.
You, my friend, are taking too much for granted.
“I think that’s a very good idea, Hassan, and, please don’t be so self-conscious, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know how you feel.” Oh, does he now?
Then returning his attention to Talya, Monsieur Fade went on, “To come back to your suggestion about confronting Abdul Rasheed, I think he is a dangerous creature. He’s probably one of those people who’ll stop at nothing to get what he wants. I believe he wants to scare you off this case or maybe he wants you out of the way all together…”
“No. I’m sorry but I don’t agree,” Talya interrupted. “Why would he have brought Rheza’s car to Bamako then? If he wanted to scare me off the case, or out of the way altogether, all he had to do was to remain in Dakar and behind the scenes, as it were. Yet you’re right about one thing, it seems Rasheed is a man who would probably stop at nothing to get what he wants. In my opinion, what he wants is to entice me into involving my company in his plans, not to get rid of me. I believe Monsieur Hjamal needs technical assistance to continue with his venture in Sabodala. What’s more, I suspect he needs capital to pay for the completion and the running of the plant. And he’s running out…”
“Talya, I don’t think…”
“Hold on, Hassan, let me finish,” Talya uttered, rebuking his interruption. “I’m convinced Savoi’s disappearance, for one thing, and perhaps even Rheza’s sudden departure, were all orchestrated somehow to lure me to Dakar. They want me to stay very much alive, because they need me.”
Monsieur Fade pulled his chair up, put his arms on the desk in front of him, and sighed. A page of his book had been ripped out and replaced by another.
“The ramifications of your statement are frightening, Madame Kartz.” He shook his head.
“Maybe they are, but I don’t believe Savoi and Rheza are in danger—not yet anyway. However, I think Savoi is colluding with Hjamal and Rasheed to force my company to help them reach their goal. As for Rheza she may have stumbled onto the scene at the wrong time.”
“Aren’t you going a little too far a field with unfounded speculations?” Hassan asked. “Hjamal, by all accounts, has never needed any money. I agree he needs technical assistance. That became obvious after reading Gillman’s letter. But to go as far as to say that Savoi, Hjamal and Rasheed are plotting to get Carmine involved, I doubt it.”
“Hassan, I’m sorry to interrupt,” Monsieur Fade cut-in, “but did you just refer to the letter from Richard Gillman? Have you read it?”
“Yes. That’s the letter that was found on his body …”
“Have you got it here and may I see it?”
Hassan turned to Talya. “Shall I?”
“Yes, of course. It will show Monsieur Fade what Richard went through before coming back to Senegal to be murdered.”
Hassan pulled the envelope from his jacket pocket, handed his friend his copy of the letter and the two of them waited until Monsieur Fade finished reading.
Perhaps Hassan was right, collusion was going too far a field. However, the existence of a connection between these people was now undeniable. Their trip to Dakar would provide clarification on that point—Talya hoped. In the meantime, she wanted to face Rasheed, no matter what anybody said, while she had the chance.
Monsieur Fade folded the sheaf of paper, returned it to the envelope, which he handed back to Hassan, and looked at Talya. “Do you remember what I’ve told you about our Senegalese neighbours and their belligerent trait? Now you can see for yourself what I meant. And contrary to what you’ve just concluded a moment ago, I have to believe Rheza is in fact in real trouble. This letter shows what she could be up against. Moreover, I agree Hjamal and Rasheed are at the bottom of this affair. What I don’t understand is why you still persist in wanting to face these people. This does not concern you anymore—”
“How could you say that?” Talya snapped, appalled. “Of course it concerns me. If it weren’t for my company engaging the services of Monsieur Savoi in the first place, we wouldn’t be in this mess. I have an obligation. Not only do I have to clear my company’s name from any dubious involvement in this affair, but I also feel I have some responsibility toward Rheza. I’d like to see her come home safely for the sake of her children, if nothing else.”
The rejection in Monsieur Fade’s eyes irritated Talya. Why was he so obdurate? Did he fully understand the implication of his niece’s involvement? Or was it because a woman proposed to help him?
“And I tell you something else; you’ve read the letter, and I’m sure you’ve noticed there was never any explicit ransom demand for Richard Gillman’s safe return. He was detained against his will and forced to provide the services for which he was engaged initially—but for which Hjamal didn’t pay him. It is my firm belief that in this case, you will not see Rheza home safely until I go down there and face Hjamal to negotiate the exchange.”
“If that’s the case, I can’t let you do that, Madame Kartz, in all good conscience…”
Somehow, I knew he would say that.
“Oh no? And how do you propose to get Rheza back? For all we know she may be a willing participant in this scheme—for now. And if so, would you then be prepared to take the risk of her becoming a hostage if I were not to go down and face Hjamal and Rasheed?”
Monsieur Fade had to face the harsh reality of his niece possibly becoming a pawn to be manipulated at will.
He bowed his head, shaking it. “Believe me when I say I appreciate what you’re trying to do, Madame Kartz, but the danger you’re going to face is even more acute now than any of us could have foreseen. I’m sure Hassan will agree that we can’t just sit by and let you go without some form of protection… Perhaps we should involve the police in Dakar and tell them—”
“Tell them what?” Hassan cut-in, visibly irritated. “That maybe Rheza is being detained against her will? Or would you prefer the other version? That she’s a willing participant in a case of fraud and collusion against a Canadian company. In either case, there is not a shred of evidence to support any accusation against anyone. Furthermore, even seeing Rheza’s car in Bamako does not constitute evidence of a crime being committed against her.” Hassan pushed his chair back and took his favourite position—elbows on knees.
“There is no other way to resolve this, Mohammed, and you know it. The sooner Talya goes, the better it will be for all of us. However, I have to agree with you, she needs protection. That’s why I’ll be with her from now on. It’s the best we can do.”
“So, what do you suggest we do?” Monsieur Fade turned his face to Talya once again. “Since there doesn’t seem to be any way to accomplish this task other than sending you to Dakar.” The frustration in his voice came back more brutal now. Perhaps it was pride which engendered resentment on his part?
“Nothing, absolutely nothing, Monsieur Fade. You have given me an insight into the character of our adversaries even before any of this happened. That’s much more help than I could have expected. But now it’s up to me.”
All of a sudden, visibly impatient to get out of his friend’s office, “I think we should leave now,” Hassan said. “We have taken enough of your time. Please call us when you have heard from the ambassador, will you?”
Monsieur Fade rose to accompany Hassan and Talya to the door, when the phone rang. They stood up. Hassan grabbed his jacket from the back of the seat while their host picked up the phone.
“Hello. Yes, of course I’ll take the call. Thank you.” He lifted his head toward Talya and Hassan, and indicated the seats they had just vacated. Putting a hand over the receiver, he said, “It’s the ambassador, I think both of you should hear this.”
They retraced their steps, and sat down again.
“Mr. Ambassador, Madame Kartz and Maitre Sangor are here with me. I’ll put you on the speaker so we can conference this call.”
“Madame Kartz?” The ambassador’s voice was commanding.
“Yes. This is Ms Kartz.”
“Ms Kartz, I hope we will have an opportunity to meet face to face in the very near future. In the meantime, let me introduce myself. Sir Gillian Faulkner is my name, I am your ambassador in Senegal and we seem to have a problem that needs resolving presently. I am hoping in fact, that the resolving could be done with your assistance.”
“How do you do, Sir?”
“A pleasure I’m sure,” he replied perfunctorily. “I presume you have been given a copy of the letter that was found on Mr. Gillman’s body? I had asked Aaron Broughton to do so as soon as he could meet with you.”
“Yes, Mr. Broughton gave me a copy of the letter this morning when I was in his office.”
“Good. Well then … I’ve received a phone call from James Flaubert a few minutes ago. He told me that he was in fact travelling through Senegal at the time he was reported to have visited the mine site. Unfortunately, he only met with Mr. Gillman very briefly and could report that he seemed to be in good spirit. He added that neither he nor their geologist, Mr. Jean-Claude Gauthier, was ever able to speak freely to Mr. Gillman. He also mentioned that, when he was on site, Richard Gillman did not make it clear to him that Monsieur Hjamal was the President of Minorex. Moreover, Mr. Flaubert told me that he had never met Monsieur Hjamal prior to his coming to Canada. Thus, as I understand it now, when he visited Vancouver, Monsieur Hjamal purported to be acquiring the exploitation rights of a mine site in Eastern Senegal—nothing more? Would that be a fair description of the facts, Ms Kartz?”
Talya nodded. “Yes, I’d say so.”
“Good. Nonetheless, I know there is more to this story than just a passing visit from Mr. Flaubert in Senegal or the finding of a murdered engineer on one of the beaches here in Dakar. Therefore, I will ask you, Ms Kartz, to come to Dakar as soon as possible. I would like to discuss, in detail, how the embassy and our government should be involved once again in this matter and how far we would wish to go with that involvement before you take any step to meet with the parties concerned.”
Talya rushed to reply, “I believe there are only two flights between Bamako and Dakar for the rest of the week. I have a reservation to travel on Sunday. But, should there be a seat available on the earlier flight, I’ll be sure to be on it.”
“I would appreciate it, Ms Kartz. On the other hand, Monsieur Fade of the Prime Minister’s office, who has been of great assistance to us thus far, has told me that your solicitor, Maitre Sangor, usually accompanies you. If Maitre Sangor is still attending this conference call, I would like to have a word with him now.”
“Mr. Ambassador, Maitre Sangor speaking. I’m honoured to meet you, Sir.”
“Likewise, Likewise…. Maitre, as you have heard what I have told Madame Kartz, if you were in the room at the time, in my view, it is imperative that you accompany this lady where ever she goes until this affair is completely cleared. As you can appreciate, we are dealing with dangerous people, to say the least. Accordingly, when you arrive in Dakar, a car will come directly at the foot of the plane to fetch you both and drive you to the Meridien Hotel where rooms will be reserved. She should not speak to anyone in the meantime. Let me insist on that last point. Monsieur Fade, are you still listening?”
“Yes I’m still here, Sir Gillian.”
“Monsieur Fade, you have told me very little about this affair. I understand your reticence to have a foreign government involved unduly in a matter that only concerns a Canadian company investing in Mali. However, we are now talking of Madame Kartz’s personal safety. As a Canadian citizen, she is entitled to my protection. Seeing to her well-being whilst travelling and working in your country, is my responsibility. For that reason, I will stress once again; it is imperative that she does not speak to anyone before departing Mali. Better, I’ve asked Mr. Flaubert not to call her until she arrives at my office in Dakar—the telephone communications at the Grand Hotel are not secure. I know this for a fact.” He paused. Talya frowned. “There is another reason, which should be more apparent to you and perhaps more relevant at this time. Monsieur Hjamal has contacts everywhere in West Africa and it is not the long arm of the law that he is stretching across our border but one of criminal activities. Consequently, since Madame Kartz would not know whom she could be talking to—friend or foe—it is much better for her to refrain from having any contact with anyone. Have I made myself clear, Monsieur Fade?”
“You have, Sir. Madame Kartz will be under surveillance the moment she leaves my office tonight. She will be well guarded before she goes away and I will confirm her flight reservations as well as the ones for Maitre Sangor, myself.”
“It is all arranged then. Are we all clear?”
They answered in unison. Sir Gillian had spoken. He must have been an old army fellow used to giving orders left, right and centre.
“Sir Gillian, I must thank you for your care and understanding of the situation,” Talya said. “But I’m sure I’m quite safe for now. It would be too obvious for anyone to attract attention by attempting to harm me when a murder has just been uncovered.”
“You may be correct, Ms Kartz, but I can’t take any chance with your life. Another point: I’ve asked of Monsieur Flaubert to stay by the phone and wait for your call. He must be expecting it right now. So, if Monsieur Fade will allow you to use his phone, I suggest you ring your president as soon as you can.”
“That won’t be a problem, Sir Gillian,” Monsieur Fade agreed, “Madame Kartz can ring Vancouver from here. But, I must ask you: have you made Monsieur Flaubert aware of the arrangements we’ve just made?”
Right about then, Talya turned down the volume and kept her own counsel, the voices drowning in the background of her thoughts….
“Yes, I have … Monsieur Fade. There won’t be any surprise at that end….”
“…Yes, Sir, I will”
“I must thank you for everything you’ve done thus far and for whatever you’re doing…”

39
Soon after Sir Gillian rang off, Talya felt a desperate need to be alone to unravel this skein of dirty wool, to find where it all began to lead her where it all would end.
“Talya? Are you all right?” Hassan was asking.
“Yes, yes … I’m fine. I’m sorry, what were you saying?”
Monsieur Fade and Hassan stared at her uncomprehending.
“I feel like I’m under protective custody…. And…”
“But, Talya, that’s what you are ‘under protective custody’,” Hassan cut-in. “No one has openly threatened you yet, but what happened to Richard Gillman can and will happen to you if you’re not careful.” Hassan had taken Talya’s hand in his.
Monsieur Fade looked at the two of them from across the desk. “Madame Kartz, you’ve explained very clearly the reason for your trip to Dakar. Obviously, you are going to put yourself at risk to bring this situation to a satisfactory conclusion. You’ve said it yourself: “now it’s up to me.” Even the ambassador deems it imperative that you travel to Dakar under guard. So, I’m sure you can see why we need to take care of your safety—if only for our peace of mind.”
“I can see that, and I appreciate it, Monsieur Fade. I’ve also heard the ambassador and I won’t ignore any of his recommendations either. However, my point is, too many people are involved already. I can’t tell you how upset I am about putting so many people at risk, just because they’ve been thrown in the midst of all this trouble and didn’t ask for any of it.” Talya was shaken up—no two ways about it.
“I think it’s time for you to call Monsieur Flaubert,” Monsieur Fade said, his tone dismissive. Clearly, the man didn’t want to hear any more discussion regarding Talya’s opposing views on the subject of liberty of action or risks to be taken or not taken.
Within minutes, James was on the line. “How are you, my dear? Have you heard from the ambassador?”
“Yes I have, James, and thank you, I’m fine. I’m in Monsieur Fade’s office where Sir Gillian called us. He made it very clear that I wasn’t to speak to anyone until I arrive in Dakar and that he wanted Maitre Sangor to accompany me to Senegal.”
“Yes, that is what we’ve decided. I can’t stress enough that the only reason you’re still in Africa is that Sir Gillian and the Board need an explanation and have requested your assistance, in resolving this situation.”
“But to do that, I… Frankly, I don’t want to advertise my presence anywhere or make a show of being guarded. I’d prefer to be left alone to do my work.”
“First of all, Talya, you’ve done your work. You have filed the Kankoon application. The money we’ve sent to Monsieur Savoi cannot be recovered. Therefore, if it weren’t for the fact that we have a body at our doorsteps and that we happen to know something of the people involved, you would be on your way home already. So, take it or leave it, you’re going to travel under guard from now on. And if Maitre Sangor is hearing this, I’ll have only to say this to him: Ms Kartz is to be coming home as soon as possible.” Talya could hear the stress in James’s voice. He was not pleased.
“Monsieur Flaubert,” Hassan began, “I’ll make sure that Madame Kartz is safely on her way back to Vancouver as soon as we’ve completed our mission. However, I must emphasize the matter is quite complex and it may take a few days for us to tie all of the loose ends.”
“Yes, I understand the circumstances, Maitre. In the meantime, you’ll have to keep me informed of your progress. The Board of Directors is on my back to be given explanations as to what’s been happening over there. I can’t keep feeding them with conjectures and suppositions. I have to come up with evidence to demonstrate that we, as a company, will come out of this affair unscathed.”
“I understand, sir. You can rest assured that Madame Kartz and I will do everything in our power to have this situation cleared up in the briefest time possible.”
40
A half-an-hour later, Talya was back at the hotel. Everything was quiet. No one had been asking for her during the afternoon and no message had been left with the receptionist. Since Hassan was now assigned to stay with her for the duration, he had gone back to his place to pick up an over-night case.
As Talya sat on the bed, her mind clamouring with everything she had been told to do and not to do, she reflected on the past 24 hours. What a mess!
She wanted to call Chantal. Before doing anything else, however, she had to have a shower. She felt as if all of the dirt and grime of the day were pasted on her skin.
The water running down her body felt soothing. She could’ve stayed there for hours. Her senses were raw. Fear has an insidious way of invading one’s mind and it was happening to her.
She tried to shrug off all of those warnings she had heard during the day, but none as crystal-clear as the one from the ambassador: “you’re not to speak to anyone until you reach my office,” And the lame excuse for it: “communications are not safe…” The ambassador wanted to prevent any possible meeting with “friend or foe.” Perhaps he knew Rasheed was in town and he didn’t want a confrontation between the two of them. Yet, wasn’t Talya right in thinking that it was a simple matter of Hjamal and Rasheed forcing her hand, or was she deluding herself?
There was something else, which was nagging at her: there hadn’t been any ransom demands made, at any time, for the safe return of Richard Gillman. Why not? In fact, his abduction and detention had been reported only weeks after his arrival in Senegal, when “a missionary group contacted the embassy…” and it was only then that a successful rescue had been conducted. ‘Successful’ to a point, Richard had re-appeared months later, to be killed. Why? Why did he come back?
Richard’s letter bothered Talya also. The piece of information missing from it; what was it that he hadn’t told them?
And where was the Dutchman coming into all this? How far was he involved? He was mentioned in the letter. He knew Richard Gillman. Wasn’t he supposed to phone her?
Talya came out of the shower in a daze. The questions kept on scrambling for first place in a race against her brainpower. What happened to Rheza? Why did she give her car to Rasheed? Did she lend it willingly or was it forcibly taken from her? And what was Savoi doing…? Was he in collusion with Hjamal and Rasheed?
She dressed casually in the loosest attire she possessed, and waited for Hassan to come back. Talya was sure he was going to knock on her door at any moment now. She picked up the phone and dialled Chantal’s number.
“Hello, Chantal, how are you doing?”
“Hi, Talya, I’m doing fine, thanks. I’ve spoken to Jean-Claude and he was able to give me some details about Richard Gillman that may be of interest to you…”
“Hold on. I think it’ll be better if you come to the hotel and have dinner with Hassan and me. After all, it may be our last opportunity to meet before I leave.”
“I don’t want to impose. Besides, I’m tired and I’m expecting a call from my daughter tonight. I’d really like to be home when she rings. Maybe tomorrow would be better and I can give you the details over the phone, there isn’t much. You see…”
“Chantal, please,” Talya cut-in somewhat abruptly, “I rather speak to you in person. Even if you don’t stay for dinner, do me a favour; come as soon as you can.” Talya hung up.
There was a knock at the door.
“Who is it?” Talya wanted to be sure that it was Hassan and not Rasheed.
“Hassan, Talya. May I come in?”
Talya let him in without a word. He closed the door behind him and as she turned around, Hassan put his arms around her and held her for a long while. In the safety of his arms, an insidious sense of helplessness had crept up silently to overwhelm her.
When she pulled away from his embrace, she shook her head slowly and told him about her phone call to Chantal. “I didn’t want to explain over the phone what was going on, but I wanted to hear what Jean-Claude had to say and I’ve asked her to come over.”
“Why did you ring her? You know what the ambassador said.”
“I know what he said. I’ve heard what everybody said today.” She was frustrated. “And if you look back at what’s been happening and at what’s been said—not only today but ever since I’ve set foot in this town—you can only draw one conclusion: nothing and no one seem to be what, or who they really are.”
“What do you mean?” Hassan looked at her in puzzlement.
“Do you remember what you told me this afternoon? “We are not in a theatre playing a part—” In fact, we are all playing into the hands of someone. We’ve been taken for a majestic ride. Unfortunately, Richard Gillman lost his life playing a part for an evil producer.”
“Talya, do you know what you’re saying?” Hassan was sitting on the bed beside her.
“Yes, of course I know what I’m saying. Look, in the first place, you’ve got Rheza; she comes to me for help, although she doesn’t need any. Savoi doesn’t show his face when I arrived in Bamako. He goes in hiding supposedly. In reality, he’s gone to Dakar to meet with Hjamal. Hjamal comes to Vancouver and says he’s got money, when in fact; he’s running out of funds. Last, you’ve got Rasheed, who pretends to come here to bring back Rheza’s car. Do you see what I mean?”
“Yes, I see … and we don’t even know if any of these actors are going to continue playing the same role. Like Rheza, as you’ve said, she could be a willing participant today and tomorrow a hostage or even the victim of blackmail throughout the scene.”
“Exactly! We’ve been through a house of mirrors at the fair. Now we’ve got to find the right door to get out.”
“And pray do tell me which door is that?”
Talya got up, put her bag on her shoulder and walked toward the door of the room.
“This one, Hassan. Down the stairs we go looking for Abdul Rasheed.” She smiled.
“You must be crazy. But if you think this door is leading us out of this mess, and talking to Rasheed will bring us closer to finding a solution, I’m with you.”
At the bar, there were two people sipping on tall drinks. They threw a long meaningful glance in Talya’s direction. She smiled in reply and wished them a “good evening.” Hassan grabbed her by the elbow and whispered, “Who are they?”
“I don’t know, Hassan. New arrivals I suppose.” Hassan didn’t know what to make of this latest encounter—neither did Talya. When you know you are being watched, you become suspicious of everyone around you, even innocent people who greet you at the bar.
“Never mind—let’s try to find our friend Monsieur Rasheed,” Talya said.
Hassan questioned the barman who had brought their lunch upstairs a few hours earlier. They spoke in Bambara. Once their little tête-à-tête ended, Hassan turned to Talya to explain that Rasheed had come down to have a drink at the bar that afternoon. He had asked at what time the restaurant opened. He had also queried Talya’s comings and goings. Obviously, Rasheed wanted to know if she was a regular patron and the best time for a chance meeting.
The lounge was busy as usual at this time of night. They walked away from the bar and grabbed a corner table where they could talk quietly. As she sat down, Talya noticed two individuals sitting a couple of tables behind them. They were watching them.
Talya reclined against the back of the chair. “So, what do we do now?”
“I suggest we do nothing. The man is going to show up, of that I’m sure. We’ll just have to wait and see.”
“What about if we called him—he must be in his room right now, we could force the issue?”
“No, we shouldn’t. He’s not one of your regular businessmen that you call for a meeting. For all we know he may be watching us right now. As I’ve told you before, you should never be at anyone’s beck-and-call. So, let him come to you. Let him brew for a while. He’ll show up soon enough. Have patience.”
“Patience,” Hassan said. I don’t have any left. But he’s right (I guess). She took a sip of the juice the waiter had brought to the table. They waited.

41
A few minutes later, Chantal came in and sat down across from Talya without a word.
She greeted Hassan and glared at Talya saying, “Why did you hang up on me?”
“Sorry about that, but you’ve got to hear what happened after you left this afternoon to understand why I did what I did.”
“Apologies accepted but explanation needed.” The traces of annoyance in Chantal’s manner suddenly loosened into a broad smile.
“All right, here we go…” Talya recounted the conversations she and Hassan had with the ambassador and James. She also told her about her misgivings; the events, the people and everything taking a different shape when put under a magnifying glass.
When Talya finished, Chantal looked into her purse, fetched out a notepad, scribbled a few words and handed her the little sheet she had just ripped off from it. She had written, “Monsieur Rasheed called me before I left.”
Talya passed the note to Hassan saying, “Okay, that does it!”
Hassan read it and leaned back on the chair, shook his head in disbelief and gave the paper back to Chantal.
“We’ll have to go someplace else to talk,” Talya said. “We should go to the restaurant where we went the first week I was here.” She looked at her attorney. “It is a quiet place and yet very public. We could hide in the middle of the crowd sort of thing.”
Hassan got up. “All right. But do we go in separate cars?”
Chantal and Talya rose from their seats as well.
“No. I think it’s better if we stay together,” Talya replied, “and Chantal, can you tell your chauffeur to wait for you here? By the way, when is your daughter calling?”
“Not before ten o’clock this evening. So there is plenty of time for us to go out and come back before she rings.”
“That’s fine then. Shall we?”
Talya went to the bar where George handed her the bill to sign. Once done, she quickly rejoined her friends in the parking lot, not noticing that someone was following her. As she was reaching Hassan’s car and as he was opening the passenger door for her, a tall man came up and stood behind Talya. She turned to face the intruder.
Obviously, he had overlooked the first rule of etiquette in Islam—not to address an accompanied lady without her escort’s explicit approval.
“Madame Kartz, may I ask where you’re going?” His presence towered over her.
Talya took two steps back to look at the individual questioning her movements. He had come so close that she almost kicked him where she shouldn’t. Just a reflex of mine.
“Sir.” She glared at him from her rather diminutive stature, “I don’t know who you are nor do I know what gives you the right to ask me such a question, but, I’ll tell you. I’m going out for dinner with my friends. If you wish to follow us, that’s fine with me. But that is all I’ll allow you to do.”
With that, Talya turned, sat on the front seat, and slammed the door away from him, almost catching his fingers in the process.
Hassan, who seemed desperate to punch the fellow senseless during their little spat, had a few harsh words for him, and the man retreated. He stood on the front steps, still looking at them as Hassan got behind the wheel and started the motor running.
Chantal, who’d gone around the vehicle noiselessly to sit in the backseat, closed the car door. “What was that all about? Who stopped you?”
Talya smiled. “One of my guardian angels, I suspect.”
“My goodness, this is getting exciting.” Chantal seemed to be taking everything in good humour.
“I don’t know about exciting. I only know that I don’t like the way things are shaping up. All this fuss, I mean. I don’t appreciate being watched. Even if someone has decided that it’s for my own good.”
Reversing the car out of the parking lot, Hassan said, “The man was assigned to follow us. Apparently, he’s from the Primature. He’s all right.”
He may have been all right, but Talya couldn’t accept being tailed while they were still in Bamako. “I’ll be glad to get out of here,” she said under her breath.
While driving through the now darkened and emptier streets of Bamako, Hassan turned his head to Talya for an instant. “Why do you stubbornly refuse to accept any form of protection? You know Rasheed is after you. Who’s to say that he’s not waiting for you to be alone so that he could induce you, or force you to go to Dakar with him?”
She shot an unnerved glance at her lawyer. “Don’t you understand? Rasheed only wants to entice me into action. He doesn’t want to antagonize me at this juncture. That would be disastrous for Hjamal. You must see that. Anyway he’s not in his country; crossing the border with me would be much too difficult for him, I would think.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. The ambassador was right. These people have contacts everywhere and if Rasheed wants to take you to Dakar, or anywhere he chooses, he’ll do so without hesitation, believe me. The only reason, in my way of thinking, he’s not going to do it, it’s because he’ll see someone at your side all the time.”
Talya had to agree. Hassan’s reasoning made sense.
“Hassan’s right,” Chantal said from over Talya’s shoulder. “You’ve got to be careful. This Monsieur Rasheed, I had him on the phone tonight, remember? He sounds like he’s got a one-track mind. And if he decided to take you away he would succeed, no matter what.”
Talya didn’t want to argue anymore. She only wanted to get away from it all as soon as possible.
They arrived at the restaurant a few minutes later. As they entered, the hostess came forward to greet the three of them with a sign of recognition in her smile.
“Maitre Sangor, it’s a pleasure to have you back once again. This time you’ve brought two ladies with you, I see. My, my, Maitre, you must be spoiled.”
“I’m pleased to be back again, too, Lisa. My companions and I would like a table in a quiet corner, if possible?”
“Of course, Maitre, this way please…” Lisa led their little parade down two steps toward a corner of the restaurant away from the dining crowd where a table for three had been quickly laid out for them.
Chantal was admiring the woodcarvings resting against the walls in well-appointed corners where the ageing patina reflected the spotlights overhead. The whole décor seemed to appeal to her sense of comfort.
Once they had settled down and drinks were ordered, Talya couldn’t wait any longer.
“Chantal, please let’s have it. What did Jean-Claude have to say...?”
“Well, as I told you on the phone there isn’t much because Jean-Claude and James only spent a few hours at the mine-site. They met with Richard Gillman very briefly. James talked to him regarding the installation of the ball-mill and the crusher, technical details, you know. He said the locals were all around them when they talked. Jean-Claude also said the Dutchman was there, too, and they talked for a while. Apparently, the Dutchman had been engaged by the owner to bring over some nitro-glycerine and place it in strategic spots. He said the nitro was to be used to blow up half of the hill side to uncover the gold deposits that had been discovered years earlier by a French explorer.”
That sounded plausible. It was the type of job the Dutchman would undertake, although Talya didn’t think his mission was limited to placing a few ounces of nitro on the side of a hill.
He had been there for something else. Let’s see… “Did Jean-Claude tell you how much nitro had been brought to the mine-site and when?”
“No, not exactly, he didn’t know how much was on site but the Dutchman told him there was a half-a-ton on order and that one container-full had already arrived a little while before they were there.”
Averting a choking cough, “What? What did you say?” Talya said almost inaudibly. Gladly, this time she had no cup of coffee to drop.
“I said: there was a half-a-ton of nitro on order and one container-full on-site when Jean-Claude left. Why?” Chantal hadn’t realized what she had said. She was puzzled at Talya’s reaction. Hassan was shaking his head, smiling.
“Are you absolutely sure Jean-Claude said a half-a-ton, as in 220 hundred kilograms, or was it a half of a metric tonne?”
“No, no, I’m sure he said a half-a-ton as in 500 pounds. I’m very sure that’s what Jean-Claude said. I know it sounds like a lot but when he said they intended to blow up the side of a hill with it, I thought a half-a-ton must have been what they’d needed.” Chantal looked a little upset by Talya’s obvious disbelief.
Hassan wiped the smile off his face when Talya gave Chantal the needed explanation. “There is a reason why we, or others, may not believe you, or Jean-Claude for that matter, when you say there was a half-a-ton of nitro on order or even just a container-full on site. That’s because you’d only need a tenth of that to raze an entire hill off the face of the earth and all the gold with it.”
“Wow! Really? I had no idea. But I’m sure Jean-Claude said a half-a-ton. Why would they want that much explosive around if they only needed a little bit to do the job? Why would Jean-Claude lie?” Chantal looked perplexed.
Talya shook her head. “I’m sure Jean-Claude wasn’t lying. He simply told you what he heard from the Dutchman. Maybe they were interrupted in their conversation and the Dutchman couldn’t tell him the rest of it. Because I’m equally sure there is more to this story than meets the eye.” Jean-Claude must have known something was wrong with the amount anyway.
Then it dawned on Talya—the missing piece from Richard’s letter—that was it. Richard knew about the nitro. He must have known. Why did he deliberately omit the fact from his otherwise detailed story? …Hassan was asking Talya a question.
“Did the Dutchman call you already?”
“No, not yet, but the night is young.”
By this time, the drinks were already on the table. They each had ordered a different meal, which the waitress brought promptly and unobserved. They picked from each other’s plate. Then they suddenly started laughing and telling jokes as if their nerves had snapped under the strain and tension of the last twenty-four hours. The whole situation was becoming more ridiculous, more fantastic, and more nightmarish by the minute, and they wanted respite, a moment to forget, as it were. None of them wanted to go back to reality or talk about the reason they came to the restaurant in the first place—Rasheed’s phone call to Chantal.
It was after ten o’clock when they left that little corner of peace Hassan had uncovered for Talya more than three weeks ago already.
Chantal agreed to call Jean-Claude again the next day and ask if the Dutchman had said anything else about the nitro. The three of them drove back to the Grand Hotel. After a few tired good-byes on all sides, Chantal got into her car and went home.
Hassan and Talya walked from the parking lot to find their guardian angel sitting on the hotel’s front steps. They exchanged no more than a courteous “good night.”
When they entered the lobby, Hassan gently grabbed Talya’s arm and steered her quickly toward the staircase. She could feel the tightness of his hand; his muscles were taut, he was on the alert.
Passing the front desk, the hotel manager came round seemingly determined to speak to them. “Madame Kartz, I don’t mean to intrude, but is everything all right? I hope you have all you need in your room and if we can be of any further assistance, please let me know…” He smiled.
“That’s very nice of you, Monsieur Gerald, thank you. Although I don’t need anything at the moment, just sleep perhaps.”
“Well then, have a good night and the same to you, Maitre.”
“Good night,” Hassan said, while the manager walked away toward the lounge. “I don’t like it,” he whispered. “I bet Monsieur Gerald has been asked to point you out.”
“He did, didn’t he? With flourish…”
They were now climbing the stairs toward their respective rooms. Someone was following them, three steps behind. Since Talya wasn’t about to show the person the way to her room, she stopped, turned and started downward once again, Hassan in tow. They passed the man on the staircase. It was Abdul Rasheed, Talya was sure of it. When they got to the lounge, Talya asked the bartender to let her have two large bottles of water. He put them on the bar and she gave one of them to Hassan.
“We forgot to get our daily ration,” Talya said to the bartender.
He bent forward and said in her ear, “I thought you’d like to know, Monsieur Rasheed’s been waiting for you all evening. There were two other men asking for you as well. What shall I tell everyone who comes calling?”
“I don’t know. Just tell them they can leave a message at the desk if they wish to speak to me…” Talya could feel Hassan’s body shielding her back. As she turned to leave, the man from the staircase approached the bar. He came close to her—too close. With her arm extended sideways, Talya prevented Hassan to come between them.
“Madame Kartz, I presume?” the man said hesitantly. Again! One of these days I’m going to have an answer ready for all of the people who have ‘presumed’ of my identity.
“Yes. Monsieur Abdul Rasheed, I presume?” Tit for tat.
“Err…, yes....”
“Let me introduce Maitre Hassan Sangor….” She turned her face to Hassan. “Maitre, this is Monsieur Abdul Rasheed.”
The latter extended a hand, which neither of them shook.
“Madame Kartz, if I may impose on your time I’d like to speak to you privately.”
“Until this very moment, Monsieur Rasheed, I didn’t wish to speak to you privately or otherwise. Moreover, I have nothing to say to you or anyone that my attorney shouldn’t be allowed to hear. But since you’re here, and you seem determined to talk to me, we can go and sit down for a few minutes.”
“Madame Kartz, this is very important. But ... well, if you insist, I’ll speak in front of Maitre Sangor.”
“Shall we sit down then?” Talya offered, turning toward the lounge.
“Err…, well…, yes.”
Abdul Rasheed was an Arab fellow. He spoke with a pronounced North African accent. He was stout—well rounded—with a flabby face to match his girth. His whitish skin was almost ashen. (Maybe the man was sick.) He wore glasses over a pair of black, beady eyes. His double-breasted navy suit, shirt and tie looked expensive. He smelled like a perfumery. There were rings on two fingers of both hands. He was carrying a briefcase, which seemed to be worth more than all of Talya’s handbags and purses put together. The man was a snob and a show-off, Talya decided. They sat down.
Meanwhile, their guardian angel and his follower came in and sat at the table next to theirs. Adding two more people to their little gathering visibly disturbed Monsieur Rasheed immensely. He started fidgeting in his chair. Clearly, he didn’t like being watched. Tough!
“Monsieur Rasheed, as I’ve told you many times on the phone,” Talya began, “I cannot, and my company is not prepared to assist Monsieur Hjamal in the way he suggested when he was in Vancouver. On the other hand, I did stop in Dakar on my way to Bamako. You had told me that someone would be at the airport to greet me upon arrival. No one showed up. Monsieur Hjamal wasn’t anywhere to be found when I phoned his office and home. Now, you’ve come here wanting to speak to me ‘privately’. Well. Monsieur Rasheed, I’m all ears. What is it that you have to say that would justify a meeting at this time?”
“I can appreciate your position, Madame Kartz. I’m sorry if I wasn’t at the airport to meet you. I was unavoidably detained…” Wooww! ‘Unavoidably detained’ that’s even better than Dr. Livingston, I presume? The man is a poser and an idiot.
“As I’ve said during our several conversations,” the idiot went on, “I wish for you to help Monsieur Hjamal in his endeavours. I have loaned a lot of money to the fellow”—and I’ll believe that when chickens grow teeth—“and I don’t think I’ll see any of it back if someone doesn’t help him out of the hole.”
“I’m sorry to hear that you’ve spent money on a venture that seems to be doomed to fail at this point. However, in the same fashion that we couldn’t help Monsieur Hjamal then, we can’t help you now. I’ll repeat myself, Monsieur Rasheed: Carmine is not for hire. What’s more, I didn’t come here to bail out unwise investors.”
“I think you should listen very carefully to what I’m going to say next, Madame Kartz, I have seen both Monsieur Savoi and Madame McLean in Dakar, they have spoken very highly of your company and they are sending you their best regards.”
It was far too late in the night to play on words, and Talya didn’t want to elaborate on the Savoi subject at that hour.
Thankfully, Hassan began speaking, “I think you should leave now, Monsieur Rasheed, before I call on our two friends,” nodding toward the two men in the corner, “to escort you out. We’ve heard enough. Madame Kartz is tired and she doesn’t wish to be disturbed any further.”
Rasheed got up and said, “Have a good night,” bowing slightly, “Madame Kartz, Maitre...” He walked away then changed his mind, turned around and came back only to add, “By the way, before I forget—have a safe trip to Dakar. We’ll see you when you get there.” And he was gone.
The two bodyguards got up. The one that stopped Talya earlier came toward them.
“Madame Kartz, my name is Ashem and this is Yasanko.” He jutted a thumb over his shoulder at his partner behind him. “I’m sorry about what happened tonight before you left, but Monsieur Fade had not given us all the necessary information. Anyway, would you like us to follow this guy? He’s been roaming the hotel all evening.”
Both fellows looked alike. They were the same height and strong built, same square jaws; same deep-set eyes, similar attitude. They must be the Malian version of a couple of Feds.
Hassan was quick to react. “That’s all right, Ashem. I don’t think Monsieur Rasheed will bother us anymore tonight. But, if you find out which room he occupies, you could watch his movements and if he leaves before morning, I’ll ask you to come and call me right away. I’m in room 43.”
“Okay, we’ll do that. Madame Kartz, Maitre, we wish you both a good night.”
There was no sign of Abdul Rasheed anywhere when they made their way up the stairs. Hassan had taken a suite next to Talya’s. They just said good night to each other in the corridor, whispering the words so not to wake any one.
42
Hassan unlocked the door, walked in and closed it behind him. He leaned against the doorframe. His mind was abuzz with incoherent thoughts and his body was limp. Anger raged through his being. He threw the key on the bed and went to the mini-bar seeking something fresh to drink. The bottle of water he got from the bar wasn’t cold enough. He was burning up. He didn’t want to admit it but he felt the first chill of an onslaught of malaria. He had to get to bed, take some quinine and sleep it off. If he were lucky, the fever would have subsided by morning. Somehow, he doubted it. Had it been earlier in the evening, he would have rung Mohammed to tell him that Rasheed knew where Rheza and Savoi were, but it was too late, much too late...
43
Talya was exhausted. She had wanted to speak to this Rasheed character for ages. Now that she had had him right there in front of her, she had been tongue-tied. Perhaps she had too many questions for him. Perhaps she had been afraid of the answers he would have given her. Such as what he had said tonight, “...they are sending their best regards…” He obviously knew where Rheza and Savoi were. His message sounded more like a threat, some sort of ransom demand.
Maybe Talya was the one over-dramatizing this time. She scolded herself for letting her imagination run away with her.
After a much-needed shower, lying in bed trying to unravel her muddle thoughts, Talya fell asleep.
She awoke at three o’clock in the morning to a loud knock at her door. Stumbling out of bed, she opened the door without giving another thought about her safety. Ashem was standing in the doorway. He looked haggard.
“I’m sorry to wake you, Madame Kartz. Please come, Maitre Sangor is very sick,” he said hesitantly.
“Wait a minute, Ashem. What did you say?” Talya’s voice was unsteady with sleep.
“It’s Maitre Sangor…”
“Yes, yes. You say he’s sick? Oh, never mind. Have you called the doctor?”
“Yes, he’s on his way.”
“How do you know Maitre is ill?” She was slowly becoming aware of the oddity of this sudden call.
“I wanted to tell Maitre that Monsieur Rasheed was leaving, as he’d asked me to. When I knocked, there was no answer. So, I called the security guard and when we opened the door we saw Maitre—he was lying on his bed very sick with ‘palu’.”
Talya was horrified. Malaria! She was bewildered.
“Thank you, Ashem. Now, please, go back to him and wait for the doctor. I’ll get dressed.” Talya had only a nightshirt on. “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
She hurried to the bathroom, splashed water on her face, brushed her teeth and dressed with the clothes that she had worn the evening before. What the heck … I’m not going to the debutante’s ball. …And if anything should happen to Hassan, Mohammed needs to be here. She picked up the phone and dialled Monsieur Fade’s home phone number, which he had given her at the bottom of his list of people to be contacted in Dakar.
“May I speak to Monsieur Fade, please?” She must have woken the man from a deep sleep. His voice was muffled as he answered in Bambara. Yet, as soon as he realized who was on the line he reverted to French.
“Madame Kartz? What’s happening? Are you all right?”
“Mohammed. I’ll call you Mohammed, if you don’t mind?”
“No. Of course not, I mean I don’t mind,” he muttered.
“Hassan is sick, very sick. I think it’d be better if you came to the hotel right away.”
“What’s wrong with him?” He sounded awake and alert now.
“Malaria … I think.”
“Not again! He’s been ill only three months ago. We almost lost him. I’ll be there in half-an-hour.” They hung up and Talya rushed to Room 43 down the hall.
44
She was sitting on the edge of Hassan’s bed. Talya had come in with the hotel nurse. She introduced herself in the hallway as they reached Hassan’s room. Her name was Justine, a pretty name for a pretty girl. She had a smiling face with almond shaped eyes. With her white smock and flat white shoes, she had the looks and the attitude of a typical nurse.
The sun was hot. The beach sand was white and glistening with each wave ebbing into the next. Hassan was looking at the ocean stretching its immensity before his eyes. The glare was intolerable. The birds, the vultures were diving down from the hill behind him. They were circling, screeching an awful song of hellish joy. What do they want? That girl, that body on the beach, a beautiful body on the sand. Hassan looked down at Rheza—her head to one side, smiling... “Hassan. The birds, Hassan, they are black... They want me to fly to the sky with them. Hassan, come with me. Come, Hassan…”
“I can’t, Rheza. Rheza. Rheza, wake up. Wake up …” Someone else was yelling these words.
“Wake up, Hassan, please wake up.”
Hassan woke up. Talya was sitting beside him on the bed. He was spent. He was drenched with his own sweat. What is Talya doing here? What time is it? He closed his eyes.
He went back to the beach. Rheza was far away. He was running. The black birds were coming closer. Another voice came to him. “Hassan, come on boy…” Who is it? Hassan couldn’t remember. He knew that voice but he couldn’t remember whose it was. What is Talya doing here? He opened his eyes again. He saw the man whose face he couldn’t remember.
“Hassan, please stay with us. We need you. Rheza needs you …” The voice was saying these words. Where is Rheza? I must find her. She must wake up ...”

When they saw the state Hassan was in, they tried to wake him without success. Justine deftly undressed him and they got another blanket, clean linen from the cupboard, and changed the sheets. They were soaked. Hassan hadn’t reacted to their ministrations. He lied there inert yet restless with convulsive movements. He groaned often. He mumbled words, broken sentences from time to time. His temperature must have been so high that Talya wondered how long his heart was going to stand the pressure.
Finally, Mohammed arrived with the doctor, a middle age man with a compassionate face. His dark eyes were inquisitive yet kind. He introduced himself as Dr. Ferron. Obviously, he was used to house calls in the middle of the night because he showed no sign of fatigue or irritation.
Still looking at his patient, he turned to Talya for an instant. “Have you given Maitre Sangor anything since you came in?”
“No, nothing. I came in with Justine and neither of us did anything but change the linen.”
“Do you know if he took any quinine today?”
“No, I don’t. But I’ve been with him for the whole day and I didn’t see him take anything, unless he took some before going to bed.”
Dr. Ferron then asked Mohammed to give him some background on his friend’s health and finally gave Hassan an injection and put him on an IV drip. That was surprising in itself, but Talya knew from experience, travelling with her father, that a physician in Africa often had hospital gear in the trunk of his car. Dr. Ferron came prepared.
After a while, Hassan seemed to calm down. He stopped muttering. He only called ‘Rheza’ a couple of times and settled back down.
Following another dose of quinine six hours later, Hassan opened his eyes at last. Justine ran downstairs to inform Dr. Ferron, who had returned to the hotel a half-an-hour earlier, knowing from practice, Talya supposed, approximately when his patient would wake up.
Hassan looked around as if he had seen his surroundings for the first time. Then he noticed that Talya was sitting on the bed beside him. “What are you doing here? What time is it?”
She didn’t answer. Tears were choking her.
Dr. Ferron came in and Talya moved away to let him do his job. She went to stand at Mohammed side at the foot of the bed looking down at their friend. Seeing Hassan lying there helpless and fighting for his life was overwhelming. Mohammed put his arm around her shoulders and whispered in her ear, “He’s going to be all right.”
“Yes, I guess so.”
He peered into her eyes. “But … you’re crying?”
She hid her head in his shoulder so Hassan couldn’t see what was happening.
Mohammed wrapped his arm around her and said, “It’s all right, my friend. I know it hurts. But with Allah’s help we’ll see the end of this turmoil, with a smile on our faces. Inshallah.”

45
While they were waiting for Hassan to come out of his delirium, she and Mohammed had had a chance to talk. Really talk. Talya told him everything she learned from Jean-Claude, the Dutchman and all those little things that bothered her—like the five hundred pounds of nitro-glycerine on order. She couldn’t stop herself. She also repeated what Rasheed had said the previous evening and the tentative conclusion she drew regarding his niece’s safety.
When Talya finished with her little exposé, she waited for his reaction. Pouring her heart out at this stage had been impulsive. Perhaps, she would regret it later. Somehow, she doubted it.
A moment later, it seemed that Talya had fuelled his anger sufficiently, for Mohammed uttered what sounded like a couple of swearwords.
“Talya, please don’t misunderstand my outburst, it’s not directed at you. I blame myself for being blind. I knew Savoi for all of his wrong doings. I knew he was leading Rheza astray. But, I always believed the influence of the family circle would deter him from hurting his own people. I guess that’s where I was wrong. Rheza has been hurt, in more ways than one.” He began pacing the floor. “I think what I’ll do, is to take a few days off and accompany you myself to Dakar. After all, Rheza may need me there. And as it stands right now, I’ll probably be the only one able to help her.”
Maybe he was right in thinking Rheza would need him to see her through this ordeal. However, the last thing Talya wanted was an irascible uncle in tow. How was he going to handle it if Rheza was hurt? Talya didn’t even want to think about it.

46
It had been twelve hours since the first knock at Talya’s door. Hassan was asleep, peacefully now. His breathing was regular and he had stopped groaning for quite sometime. Dr. Ferron had taken the drip apparatus away. Justine continued to stay with Hassan. Another twelve hours had to pass before they would know for sure if Hassan were safe. Then, there was another three days of recovery. Malaria is merciless and incurable.
Mohammed and Talya decided to go to his office that afternoon and ring Vancouver to tell James about the new turn of events. He wasn’t in the office. Talya left a message with Sabrina. Then, they phoned the ambassador. The latter showed dutiful concern for Hassan’s health. He emphasized again the importance of caution, if Talya were to go to Dakar alone. She didn’t think she needed to be reminded how cautious she should be; she was scared enough to do that on her own.
Sensing Talya’s hesitation at the mention of being alone to face Monsieur Hjamal and Rasheed, the ambassador said, “Ms Kartz, let me assure you that if it were the case, and you should come to Dakar without Maitre Sangor, you will be escorted the minute you get off the plane.”
47
When Mohammed dropped Talya off, and she was back in her room, she called Chantal to let her know what happened. She no longer cared if the world wanted to eavesdrop on her conversation; she needed a friend.
“My God, poor Hassan,” Chantal said when she heard what had taken place in the last twelve hours. “What are you going to do? Are you going to Dakar anyway? Will he be well enough to go this weekend do you think?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m going to do. All I know is that I have to get to Dakar…”
“But you can’t do that; that’s not safe. Why don’t you go back to Vancouver from here?”
“You know I can’t. Anyway, let’s talk about something else. I forgot to ask you about your phone call from Rasheed. What did the man have to say?”
“Okay…, here goes it. He didn’t…”
“Hold on…,” Talya cut-in. “On second thought, I prefer you don’t tell me, not right now.” One part of Talya wanted to throw safety to the wind, but the other wanted to remain safe and abide by the rules that had been laid down for her.
“But, I…”
“Please, we’re not out of the woods yet, Chantal. You know what I mean.” Talya hesitated. “Would you like to come and have dinner with me tonight? Perhaps we could pay a visit to Hassan. He may be able to see us then.”
“Okay, I know what you’re saying. I’ll come around in an hour’s time. Is that okay?”
“All right then, in an hour then.” Talya rang off.
Still sitting on the bed, she let her head drop on the pillow and closed her eyes. She longed for peace. Yet she knew she wouldn’t be able to breathe a sigh of relief for a long time to come. She was weary. She got up and went to sit down near the window. She looked up at the sky. The clouds were gathering rapidly. It would rain tonight.

48
At eight o’clock sharp, Chantal walked into the restaurant. Talya had been waiting for her for only a few minutes. She looked a bit frazzled. She sat down, out of breath.
“Are you Okay?”
“Yes, I am, Talya. I’m rushed off my feet—that’s all. My daughter wants to come down with her father. I can’t say no, of course. If only she’d waited until her father was well again. You know how it is. She thinks she’s going to help me to take care of her dad. I’m sure it’ll be quite the opposite. I’ll be doing all of the caring for both of them.”
Talya could sense the weariness in her voice. Chantal wanted her husband to herself for a while—understandably so.
They chatted during dinner but as they were finishing their meal, Talya raised the Rasheed question.
“So tell me what did Rasheed have to say? And how did he get your number?” Two glasses of wine were the only remnants of their meal. The crimson wine shimmering against the light was almost mesmerizing. Wine in most parts of the continent comes from South Africa. Its fruitful flavour is captivating, its strength enveloping.
Talya listened.
“Oh, that’s easy—we’re in the directory…. Anyway, first, I had no idea who he was—I mean who was ringing me. I thought it was my daughter, but when he said, “My name is Abdul Rasheed,” I got scared. I don’t know why, Talya, but his voice sounded creepy. Anyway, he went on asking after Jean-Claude. He insisted on speaking to him. Obviously, he didn’t know what had happened and he probably thought I was lying when I said my husband was out of town. So, I guess after a while, when he realized I was not going to give in and let him know where Jean-Claude was, he relented. He gave me a message though—”
Chantal reached down in her big bag and retrieved the famous notebook.
“I have taken down what he said. “Tell your husband what he heard at the site was all lies. Tell him to keep his mouth shut.” Then he hung up.” She put the notebook away and took a sip of wine. “Do you think there is anything in what he said?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Oh dear! What could he do? He’s not going to come to my home, is he?”
“No, nothing of the sort. At the moment, he has the upper hand. He probably feels he could threaten anyone. He has two aces up his sleeve, Rheza and Savoi. He knows where they are. As long as we are kept in the dark as to their whereabouts and as long as we can’t figure out the connections between the players, he will continue threatening anyone who needs to be kept at bay.”
“So? What am I supposed to do?” Chantal’s voice was tinged with worry.
“Nothing, nothing at all. You just wait for Jean-Claude to come back. When he does, and, when he’s had time to recover, then you let him have the whole story.
“What if he calls again?”
“He won’t. He left yesterday. That’s what the guards told me. And, I have confirmed his departure with the desk. He’s gone back to Dakar, I’m sure of it. Although, I’m not sure that he’s taken Rheza’s car with him. In any case it’s not parked in the hotel lot.”
“So, you think I shouldn’t worry about him any more?”
“No need. Rasheed thought Jean-Claude was in town. He was afraid he’d have said something to any of us regarding the conversation he had with the Dutchman or with Richard last year at the mine-site. Somehow, this conversation between Jean-Claude and the Dutchman is important. Also, the fact that Rasheed doesn’t know how much we know bothers him. He came to Bamako on a fishing trip. He wanted to discover what we found out. Now that we’ve said very little, which amounted to nothing really, he’s left.”
“What about you? Is he still expecting you to arrive in Dakar? Will he be waiting for you when you get there on Sunday?”
“Oh yes, I’m sure he’ll be expecting me. However, Rasheed doesn’t know exactly when I’ll be in Dakar. He had already left when we discovered that Hassan was bed ridden. As far as I’m concerned, I’m not worried. I’m apprehensive, of course, but, I know Rasheed wants me to bail them out. He’s astute enough to know that if he hurts me, Hjamal would have one less chance to complete his mining plant … or whatever his reasons are for wanting me in Dakar.” Talya shrugged.
The waiter brought them some coffee. They sat in silence for a few moments.
Talya lifted her eyes from her cup. “Did you have a chance to talk to Jean-Claude about the nitro again?”
“No, I didn’t want to worry him any further. I thought I’d leave it for when he gets home.”
“That’s good, because as I said, it will be better for you two to talk when he gets back. There are so many disjointed pieces in this puzzle that Jean-Claude would get lost trying to figure out how and where they fit. We’re already getting lost doing it and we’re right here in the middle of it all.”
The hour grew late. Talya thought it might be a good idea to postpone their visit to Hassan until morning. He was probably sleeping and didn’t need any visitors at that late hour. “Would you mind if we didn’t go and see Hassan tonight?”
“I was thinking the same thing. It’s very late and he may be sleeping. I prefer to come back tomorrow, at any time you say. I’ll bring him something to read maybe.”
“Yes, I’d say it’d be a good idea for us to get an early night.” It was almost midnight. Days and nights were stretching too far into one another, it seemed. “I can’t remember the last time I slept without being awakened by some phone call or a knock on the door.”
They had finished their coffees and they were now in the lobby. Suddenly Talya was impatient for Chantal to leave.
“I guess, I’m lucky … living in a house,” Chantal said, “You don’t get all of the interruptions.”
“All right then, we’ll see you tomorrow? What time would you be free?”
“Let’s say around ten o’clock?”
They hugged and Chantal left.
49
Hassan was reclining on his pillow. He was still haunted. The fever had broken, yet only fragments of memory remained. He couldn’t recall when he lay down, when he slept, when he woke. He looked at the clock on his bedside table, and then took his wristwatch that someone had taken off his wrist—he didn’t recall when that happened either—and stared at it. Looking at the date, he realized that twenty-four hours of emptiness had passed. A swirl of presence and absence danced in front of his unseeing eyes. Mohammed had been there. Talya had called him. Now everyone had gone, disappeared into those long lost hours. He knew he had to get up. He knew he needed to walk. Would he be able to take those few first steps? He watched the nurse reading in the chair beside the window. His last drop of pride prevented him from disturbing her. She had been turning the pages of her book at a rhythmic, noiseless pace for hours. Finally, Hassan threw the covers back and put his feet on the ground. The nurse got up and hurried over to him.
“Maitre, it’s not time yet—”
“I need to get up.”
“All right then, but let me help you.”
“No, I don’t want your help.” Pushing her hand away, Hassan stood up. The room whirled around his eyes—everything moved. He sat down again.
“Maitre, please let me get some juice for you. You’re still too weak to stand.”
“How long...? How long before I can get out of this bed?”
“If you could try drinking or eating something, maybe another two hours.”
Hassan couldn’t even think of food. The idea was revolting, the proposal ludicrous. Even if he wanted to bite the first bite, sip the first sip of whatever would be on offer, he knew he wouldn’t keep it down. The humiliation of it all was debasing. He thought of Talya. She saw him like this. Laughable wasn’t it? He was asked to protect her, to stand by her, and look at him now—not even able to stand up on his own.
50
Talya went up the stairs and knocked lightly on Hassan’s door. Justine opened it promptly. She looked worn out. Talya knew she lay on the floor and slept for a few hours in the afternoon, but she had been on watch for almost twenty-four hours, and that was a lot, even for a dutiful nurse. She came out of the room and stood beside Talya in the corridor putting a finger on both her lips signing her to be quiet.
“Madame Kartz, I’m glad you came. Maitre is sleeping. He wanted to get up earlier, and I think the next time he wakes up he’ll want to go to the bathroom.” How typical of a nurse. Talking about the body functions of a man she hardly knew in the corridor of a hotel didn’t seem to faze her one little bit.
“Well, I guess he’s feeling better then?” Talya whispered. “What can I do to help?”
“Oh nothing, really; it’s just that, he hasn’t taken any fluids yet, and he’s very weak. I’m afraid he would fall down if he tried to walk.”
“Tell you what, I’ll go and ask one of the guards to stay with you. Then, if Maitre wants to get up, at least he’ll have a man nearby to help him.”
“That’d be very nice. I’ll stay with him the night but if I have someone with me I’ll feel a lot easier. Thank you.”
“Has Dr. Ferron called back already?” Talya asked.
“Not yet, he won’t until tomorrow. Maitre is much better. There is no need for him to come back yet.”
They said good night and Talya reminded her that she was in the next room and that Justine could call on her anytime, although she hoped, she wouldn’t. She went back into the room and Talya went downstairs, in search of Ashem.
He’d be back on duty by now.
When she found him, she explained what she needed him to do and he accepted readily enough. He was keen on taking this assignment because there was a television in Hassan’s room and he could watch it, all night if he wanted to, while trying not to fall asleep.
Now that everyone was tucked away for the night, it was high time for Talya to do the same.

51
Although Talya had a peaceful night’s sleep, the next day arrived too soon. It was past eight o’clock when she got out of bed. Everything was quiet next door. Nobody had called during the night. She took a leisurely shower, got dressed and went downstairs for breakfast. There wasn’t a sign of anyone she knew.
“Good morning, Madame Kartz, how are you? And how is Maitre this morning?”
“Oh, Monsieur Gerald, good morning.” Talya had raised her head from the paper to find the hotel manager standing by the table. “I’m fine, thank you. And as for Maitre Sangor, last night the nurse told me he was trying to get up.”
“Oh I’m so glad to hear it. Do you think he will want some breakfast?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure Justine will call down if Maitre wants something…. By the way, I wanted to thank you for getting Dr. Ferron so quickly.”
“Not at all, glad to be of service, and now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll have to go and attend to the breakfast service.”
“Yes of course, please don’t let me hold you up.” He walked away with a broad smile across his lips. The man is courtesy personified. She wondered where he went to school—Switzerland perhaps.
She continued eating and reading the paper. On Friday’s, Talya was able to get the Herald Tribune’s Wednesday’s edition. It had always been a treat for her to sit and read the paper in the morning. Wherever she was, it was a ritual.
Talya dutifully tried her hand at the cryptic crossword, without much success. An hour later, Chantal came looking for her. She, too, must have had a good night sleep; the lines under her eyes were gone.
“Hi! How are you? How’s the patient?” She sat down.
“Oh, hi, Chantal. I’m fine thank you and I don’t know how the patient is.”
Talya put her pen down and asked the waiter to bring a cup of coffee for Chantal.
She started laughing, shaking her head. “How is it possible that you can sit here, read the paper, do the crossword and not even inquire about your friend’s health?”
Talya locked eyes with Chantal across the table. “Have you ever had malaria? Or did you ever attend anyone who’s had an attack?”
“No, I haven’t. What’s that got to do with you getting some news about Hassan’s condition?”
“Well, I tell you. In the first instance, if it is cerebral malaria, as in Hassan’s case, the patient goes into a sort of trance and—”
“No, don’t start!” Chantal glared at her friend. “You’re evading my question. I’m asking you why you don’t go and see him right now. I didn’t ask you to describe his sickness. So why is it that you’re sitting here having breakfast and not at his bedside? He’s your friend for pity sake.”
Talya was taken aback. She hadn’t been expecting Chantal’s impatience or her insight into her behaviour.
“Simply because I knew we were going to see him soon, and disturbing him twice in a short period of time would confuse him. Honestly, I don’t really know how to deal with that sort of pressure—especially now.”
“What are you talking about? Hassan is going to be fine. Let’s go and see him right now. Come on... Let’s go.” Talya was out of excuses.
Chantal knocked on the door softly and to their surprise, and relief, Hassan opened it. He was dressed with the hotel bathrobe. He looked tired.
“Come in please,” Justine said from behind Hassan. “Maitre is doing much better as you can see.”
Chantal erupted in a string of joyful comments regarding Hassan’s rapid recovery. He smiled timidly in response, took a few steps back to let them in, averting his eyes from Talya’s gaze. He silently went back to bed and slipped under the cover. Talya sat beside him while Justine and Chantal went to sit by the window to chat.
She looked at the man Talya came to care for so much in such a short time. “How are you?”
“I’m doing better, thank you.” He tried to smile, continuing to evade her eyes.
She got up and turned to leave. “I think you still need to rest. We should go. We just wanted to know if you were okay.”
As she reached the foot of the bed, Hassan called back, “Talya, please stay. Alone.”
Chantal and Justine looked up, got up and trotted out quickly. They were smiling.
Talya retraced her steps and sat down again. “I should let you rest, really—”
“No. I mean … I will, later.” He reclined his head on the pillows and closed his eyes.
Talya waited for a minute or two and then said, “I’ve confirmed the arrangements to leave Sunday and—”
Hassan opened his eyes. “Please listen. It’s no good. I won’t be able to help you. Just look at me, I can’t even walk properly.”
“Oh stop that. You, of all people should know that by Sunday this little episode would be but a memory. You’ll be running a mile by then—”
“I won’t. Maybe later.”
“All right then. Mohammed said he’d come down with me, so…”
“What do you mean Mohammed is going with you? Where?” Hassan was puzzled.
“Dakar. Where else?”
“But he can’t, he doesn’t know anything about these people.”
“He knows enough, as much as you and I do anyway.”
“He can’t go, not just the two of you.”
“I don’t understand. Why don’t you think it’s a good idea, especially when you don’t want to make the trip?”
“Never mind why, he just can’t go, that’s all.”
“I’m not going to argue with you. I’ll let you go back to sleep and come back later.”
“Don’t … I want … I need you to stay. I want to talk to you.”
“I don’t think…”
“Be quiet for once, please. Just sit with me a little while longer.”
Talya knew his mind was fighting for control and arguing wouldn’t do him any good.
He took her hand and whispered, “Please, listen to me. I won’t be able to come with you right away. And you’re right; I know better than most what this disease can do to a man’s behaviour. This is why I say I can’t go, even in two days’ time.”
“But—”
“No, Talya, no buts about it. I’ll take the next flight down. I’ll join you when I know I can be of some use to you and not be a burden.” He lay back on the pillows, visibly tired. “As far as Mohammed is concerned, as I said, it will be better for him to stay away. I’ll tell you why that is, later. I’ll call him and see what he has to say.”
Talya took her hand away. “I’m trying to understand how you feel and it’s hard. I guess I’ll have to accept your decision. But…”
He looked at Talya and smiled. “You managed to put another but into it, didn’t you?”
She smiled back. “Yes, I did. I just wanted to say I’m sorry. I’m being selfish. I want you with me because I’ve got no idea what to expect and no one out there who would be able to guide me out of the maze in the same way you could.”
“You’d have to know, Talya, I’m sure you do already: I need you as much as you need me, especially now.” He shook his head. “I can’t come with you and endanger your life or risk anyone else’s life in the process. I told you, I’ll join you as soon as I can.” He reclined on the pillows once again and closed his eyes. In a moment, he was asleep. The fight was over for another few hours.
Talya left the room quietly and found Justine and Chantal waiting in the corridor, impatient to hear the latest. “Chantal, would you mind coming to my room for a few minutes?”
“Of course not. What has Hassan got to say for himself? Is anything wrong?”
“I’ll tell you in a minute.” Talya turned to Justine. “You should take a break. You have been awake all night. Maybe the doctor will send a replacement for you?”
“Yes, Madame Kartz, he’s sending someone else at noon. I’ll come back tomorrow morning. Has Maitre said anything? Does he want something to eat?”
“I don’t think so. He’s asleep again.”
“That’s good. I’ll just sit with him then. Oh, and thank you for sending Ashem last night. It was great to have someone to talk to.”
“That’s okay. I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
When Chantal and Talya were alone in her room, Talya told her Hassan wasn’t well enough to accompany her to Dakar.
“But you knew that already, didn’t you? So, what are you going to do?”
“I’ll have to face the music by myself, I guess. Mind you, it will only be for a few days, and the ambassador will have someone to escort me anyway. Hassan said he’ll come down on the next flight.”
“Do you think he will?”
“I hope so.” Talya threw her arms in the air. “This is ridiculous. I’m a big girl now. I shouldn’t have to depend on a man, I never did, why should I start now?”
“Yes, I know,” Chantal said, “but, you’ve never had to deal with a murderous bunch before, did you?”
“No, that’s true. And, I never in my wildest dream thought I would.”
“There you are then. I think you should be fair to yourself…”
“And Hassan doesn’t even want Mohammed Fade to come with me, although he already said he would take a couple days off—”
“Oh no? And why does he think he can make that decision for Monsieur Fade?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know anything anymore…”
“Did you talk to James Flaubert?”
“No. I couldn’t reach him.”
“Listen, you need to think about this trip. You need to talk to Monsieur Fade, or call James again. But I don’t think you should go by yourself, even with an escort from your embassy.” Chantal lowered her head and looked at her bag on her lap. She looked sad.
She raised her face and peered into Talya’s eyes. “I wish to God Jean-Claude was here and in good shape so he could go with you. It’s not fair. You’ve been thrown into a situation that would be dangerous in any normal circumstances, but to face this sort of thing in Mali … or in Dakar, I mean … and alone…. It’s not fair to be asking you to go and risk your life like that?”
“Don’t go imagining things now. I’m not going to risk my life, believe me. I’m only going to Dakar to meet the president of a company to try to negotiate some kind of a deal with him, that’s all.”
“I admire your optimism, my friend, but I still think you shouldn’t go alone.”
“Thanks, but I’ll be fine, you’ll see…”
There wasn’t anything more to say. Chantal gave Talya a big hug before she left. Once she was gone, Talya felt very much alone indeed.
52
Mohammed decided it was about time to have a chat with Hassan. He needed to find out if his friend would be able to join him in Dakar, and when. He left his office around eleven o’clock and within a half-an-hour he was at the hotel.
He knocked on the door and to his delight, Hassan answered.
“I’m glad to see you up and about. How are you?”
“I’m better, thanks. But don’t just stand there, come in and have a seat.” Hassan indicated the bed where he returned and slipped under the cover.
Justine had put her book down on the table when Mohammed had come in. She rose and walked toward the door, sensing that the men would probably want to talk privately. “I’ll go downstairs for a few minutes and leave you two alone.” Her hand was already on the doorknob.
“You don’t have to go, if you don’t want to. My friend and I…, we’ll just have a chat,” Hassan said.
Justine smiled. “I’ll go anyway. I need to stretch my legs.”
“Okay. Go ahead then.” Hassan shrugged.
Justine closed the door carefully behind her and was gone.
Mohammed and Hassan looked at each other before speaking. Instinctively they felt a confrontation was inevitable. There had been too many things left unsaid.
“I’ve had a long conversation with Talya and…” Mohammed began.
“It’s Talya now is it? No more Madame Kartz?” There was a touch of jealousy in Hassan’s voice.
“Yes, Hassan, she’s asked me to address her by her first name while we were standing here watching you fighting for your life. Never mind that. Why I came to see you this morning is this—”
“Hold it a minute. Did you say that Talya saw me, ‘watched me’ during the past few days?”
“Yes, we both did. Why, do you find that surprising?”
“No, not surprising just revolting. Why didn’t you keep her away?”
“Keep her away? Why, Hassan, she’s devoted to you. She stayed at your bedside for six hours straight. She changed your clothes, your bed, and she tried to make you comfortable as best she could before I came in. After that, I couldn’t drag her out of here until Dr. Ferron told her to go and have some rest. And now you’re telling me that you didn’t want her here? What kind of a friend are you? Not even to accept her attention after being such an ass with her?”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. She came in this morning and I’m afraid I did the wrong thing. Actually, I’m glad you came because I wanted to talk to you about it.”
“And what makes you think you did the wrong thing?”
“I told her I couldn’t go with her to Dakar and that I’d follow her on the next flight.”
“Just like that, eh? You just send her to take care of everything while you’re recovering? As I said you’ve no idea how badly you’ve treated her. Did you offer an alternative besides taking the next flight out?”
“No, I didn’t, but she did …”
“And what was that?”
“She said you’d suggested you’d go with her…”
“And?”
“And I said I didn’t want you to…”
“You did what? How could you?” Mohammed was livid. “How could you make a decision like that without consulting me first? You have the phone, right there, by your hand—were you too sick to lift the receiver and call me? I can’t believe this. You’ve overstepped your bounds.”
“Please, before you go any further with your recriminations, I’d like you to hear me out…”
“Yes, by all means, give me an explanation for this one. I really would like to hear it; it must be a good one.” Mohammed was glaring at Hassan with reproach and resentment.
“Just listen for a minute, will you? Do you remember what Talya explained about Rheza being a willing participant in this mess?”
“Of course I do, so isn’t that one more reason for me going there…”
“Will you just listen, please?” Hassan was getting tired but he needed to tell his friend why he did what he did.
“If Rheza was even remotely participating or collaborating with our three offenders, you, as a member of this government, cannot be seen to be associated with her. You should stay away. Your reputation depends on you staying as far away as possible from that scene. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I do. Except Rheza is not a willing participant. I know that now.”
“And pray tell me how do you know that?”
“Don’t sneer…. I know that because of what Rasheed said to you and Talya when he met with you a couple of days ago. He said—if I remember correctly what Talya told me—he said, “They’re sending you their best regards.” Isn’t that what he said?”
“Yes, that’s exactly what Rasheed said. And from that you’ve concluded Rheza’s in trouble? Don’t be so naïve. Rheza may have said it herself to taunt you and Talya. Rasheed is smart. He comes here with her car, which she may have loaned to him willingly, saying that Talya should intercede and get her company to bail him out as well as his boss. Talya doesn’t bite. She doesn’t even consider his offer. She rejects him point blank. So what does Rasheed do? The next best thing—he says he saw Savoi and Rheza and they’re okay and ‘they’re sending their best regards’. He knows this will get us going. He expects that even you would jump through hoops for him.”
“Me? How would he know that? And how could he expect me to jump through hoops for him?” Mohammed was puzzled.
“Because, as you did when Talya explained to you that Rheza may have been abducted and held against her will, you would ‘jump through hoops’ to get your niece back or wouldn’t you?”
“Of course I would. So, you mean Rasheed was baiting Talya into action?”
“Yes, he was. What’s more, didn’t you say that Hjamal applied for funding to the Malian government at one time? And didn’t you say this same government had rejected the proposal?”
“Yes, I did, but so what?”
“Mohammed, put yourself in Hjamal’s position, and tell me what you see?”
“Well, at the moment I don’t see anything. I can’t think of where you’re going with this.”
“Okay then, let me finish drawing the picture, you’ll understand soon enough. If Rheza is held at ransom, you, in your position, could certainly influence the Primature to take another look at Hjamal’s project. Therefore, it follows that if you were to go to Dakar, you would give Hjamal another opportunity to apply the screws on you and get you involved in the scheme—along with the Malian government. Don’t you see what Hjamal is doing?”
“Yes, I see.” Mohammed shook his head in dismay. In the end, he had to agree the best course of action was to stay behind and not get involved for now. Although it meant Talya was now on her own, and that wasn’t sitting right with him.

The rain had fallen overnight and the pavement was still wet. The temperature was so mild—it was almost cool—that Mohammed decided to walk to his office instead of taking the car. He would send a chauffeur to drive it back to the Primature later.
53
Later that day, Talya had just about as much as she could take. The rain had started to fall the night before. She was sulking like the clouds overhead. She lay on the bed, trying to shut the world out. She read, not seeing the words on the pages. The hours were stretching into the future. Her mind, chased by disjointed thoughts of self-pity, raced after the unknown.
In her diary, Talya wrote:
Here I am. Too many people are involved. Too many questions without answers. Who has these answers? I can’t see through this fog. I can’t find the thread. Where is Aziz? Why does he not answer my calls?
Savoi, Rheza—what happened to them? Where are they? Are they still alive? Those pieces of a puzzle—how can I make them fit? Nothing makes sense. Where will it all end?
And those infernal pieces of memories—my mind cannot rest. I cannot see through this confusion. They were three men... I was only a child. What did they do? They destroyed a part of my soul. Will my mind ever allow me to piece the nightmare into oblivion?

The phone rang. For a moment, Talya thought it could have been James returning her call. She looked at the clock and picked up the receiver. The receptionist was on the line.
“Madame Kartz?”
“Yes, what is it?” Talya was in a foul mood.
“There is a phone call for you from Dakar.
“Who is it?”
“Sorry, he didn’t want to give his name. Shall I put him through?”
“Yes please.”
“Madame Kartz?” Talya recognized the voice. Finally!
“Yes, this is she. Who’s speaking?”
“Monsieur Hjamal.”
“May I ask the reason for this call, Monsieur Hjamal?”
“I see that you don’t want to waste any time, neither do I. So, I’ll get right to the point. Monsieur Rasheed, my collaborator, has just returned from Bamako. He has informed me that you and Maitre Sangor were supposed to have arrived in Dakar on Wednesday.” Where did he get the idea I was going to fly to Dakar on Wednesday? “After verifying the guest registrations with a couple of hotels in town, we concluded that you had not made the trip. It was then that I decided to ring you at the Grand Hotel.”
“Before you go any further, Monsieur, let me say that I don’t appreciate you verifying my whereabouts, whether here or in Dakar, since I have not chosen to advise you of my intentions.”
“I understand your resentment toward my actions, but believe me, they were justified. We both know that it has become necessary for us to meet once more.”
“And you, unfortunately, have made it necessary, if not imperative.”
“I regret that the circumstances have made it so.” I bet you do. “And since you agree that it is imperative that we meet as soon as possible, I am sending my aircraft to Bamako tonight to fly you back to Dakar in the morning.”
“Why? I plan to be in Dakar on Sunday afternoon anyway.”
“I don’t think matters can wait that long.” Where’s the fire? “I cannot explain over the phone.” What a difference could it possibly make? “Our pilot will be waiting for you at the airport at nine o’clock, or earlier if you prefer.”
“I see.” Talya had to think, and fast. It was a case when hesitation may cost more than the decision itself.
“Okay, I will be at the private aircraft hangar at nine o’clock tomorrow morning.” What am I saying?
“Excellent! You understand of course, this invitation does not extend to Maitre Sangor or to anyone else in your party.”
“I understand perfectly. I can’t say that I’m looking forward to meeting with you again. I just hope the results will be worth the trouble.”
“I’m sure they will be.” For whom will they be worthwhile?
“Good bye, Monsieur Hjamal.” Talya rang off. She was trembling with rage and fear. She was fuming.
Talya’s first reaction was to ring everyone she knew. She picked up the receiver … then changed her mind. She went to the desk and wrote a letter.
When she was done, Talya went downstairs, had a delicious meal and read the local rag. Ashem came to her table and told her that he had a talk with their patient. Hassan apparently wanted to go home the next morning. Not even the courtesy of telling me he was leaving—nice!
As Talya reached her room, she heard the telephone ring. She rushed in and lunged across the bed to grab the receiver—she was hoping it was James.
“Ah. Talya, this is Mohammed. I almost gave up—”
“I was in the restaurant, I’m sorry. What’s up?”
“I had a long chat with Hassan today. He sounded a lot better. We agreed that he and I should travel to Dakar on Wednesday’s flight.” When the going gets tough, the toughs stay home, don’t they?
Talya looked up at the ceiling. “That’s best for everyone concerned, I guess.”
“I think so. Anyway, I’ll probably see you in the morning when I come to fetch Hassan …”
“At what time?” So that I’ll be sure not to be here.
“Hassan wants to leave by ten o’clock so I’ll be in a little before then. Oh, have you heard anything from anyone lately?”
“No, not a thing. Not a word,” Talya lied.
“Strange. I suppose everyone is waiting for Sunday.”
“I suppose so,” Talya said, sounding appropriately unconvinced.
“Well, Talya, if I don’t see you in the morning,” and you won’t, “I’ll ring you on Sunday before you leave. I’m sure Hassan will keep in touch in the meantime.”
“I’m sure he will. If I hear anything, I’ll let you know.”
“Good night then. And, be sure to call if you need anything.”
All I need is your help to get your niece and your brother-in-law back. Yet, all of you have found a way to slither under a rock somewhere, haven’t you? Cowards! Obviously Talya’s fear had turned into reproachful and riling thoughts.
“I will, don’t worry.”
54
Talya opened the wardrobe. The previous night she had packed her suitcase and set aside comfortable underwear (very important), a pair of jeans, T-shirt, socks and walking shoes. She grabbed the lot and went to take a shower.
It was 6:00AM. Talya was going to travel light. The luggage was staying in Bamako. The only thing she was going to carry was a tote bag. In it she put the food she had saved in the fridge—oranges, biscuits and dried fruit bars—a bottle of water, sugar cubes, a change of clothes and other women’s essentials. She zipped it closed and looked around. On the table, she left the letter to Hassan, the room key and an envelope for Monsieur Gerald.
She went out quietly, took the backstairs and in a few minutes, she was hailing a cab. She arrived at the airport at 8:30, which would give her ample time to do a little checking around.
The only aircraft, evidently ready to take off, and resting proudly in front of the hangar, was a Lear jet. Talya wondered if it was Hjamal’s private air-transport. She would have bet her bottom dollar it was. In fact, and from what she had heard so far, Ahmed Hjamal wasn’t doing anything on the cheap. It seemed that everything he did was expensive, probably not for him, however.
As Talya was taking a look at other flying machines parked in the hangar, some very old and some not so old, she suddenly noticed two uniformed men coming through the door from which she entered earlier. She quickly hid from view. She was sure they hadn’t seen her. They were chatting in a friendly manner.
The security guard spoke first. “And where do you go today?”
“Kedougou first, to drop off a guest and then on to Dakar,” the other replied.
The latter was dressed in a pilot’s outfit, looking as sharp as they come. They walked off toward the aircraft standing on the tarmac away from where Talya was hiding. She had heard enough. She wasn’t going to Dakar. She was going to the mine site. “Please come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.” Although the prospect of being held in a compound, under what would promise to be strenuous circumstances, didn’t appeal to her in the least, Talya wanted to discover what made Sabodala a pivot point in this affair. Richard had been held at the mine against his will, and now Savoi, and perhaps Rheza, were probably detained there, too. Why would Hjamal want me in Sabodala? She had to find out.
Talya stayed out of sight and waited for the two fellows to be out of earshot, so she could move safely out from her hiding place. As if she had come in that very minute, she walked directly to the passengers’ lounge. That’s a very generous description for what was actually a run-down shack with three rooms, the walls painted in an awful barfing green, four seats, a desk, a typewriter on it, and a lavatory at the back. One of the seats was unoccupied. Talya sat on the edge of it. The two men and the woman, who had turned their glances in her direction when she marched into the room, were apparently expecting something. She had no idea what they were waiting for. She never had time to find out. They just sat there and resumed their interrupted conversation. Talya remained silent and smiled politely.
From the window, she saw the pilot come toward the lounge. He entered, closing the door behind him. He looked at the four people in the sitting room and rested his gaze on her.
“Madame Kartz?”
Talya stood up. “Yes. And you are?”
“Pierre Masson, Monsieur Hjamal’s company pilot.” She shook his extended hand.
Pierre was what Talya would call a typical Frenchman; crisp but charming manners, exuding suave chauvinism, in a gentle way, of course. He was handsome; black hair, hazel eyes and a smile that you’d kill for.
I’ve always had a penchant for men in uniform, but this one takes the cake.
“Have you got any luggage?” His voice was steady and almost commanding.
“No, I haven’t, Captain, just my shoulder bag.”
“Call me Pierre, please. So, we’re ready to go?”
“I guess we are.”
He held the lounge door open for Talya to get out. Then he passed her and walked ahead toward the Lear, she trotted behind. His long legs didn’t allow Talya to do otherwise. It reminded her of what a friend once said of her being short; “Talya, when other people were growing up, God forgot to include you in the process.”
They climbed aboard. There were six brown leather chairs alongside the windows of the main cabin with pull-away tables between them. The decor smelled new, felt rich and plush, with a tinge of overstated snobbishness.
Pierre indicated the middle seat on the right hand side of the aircraft. He asked Talya to sit down, to make herself comfortable and to buckle-up. He explained the safety procedures, pointed at the hidden toilet and told her that the mini-bar was full so that if Talya needed anything, she could just help herself—after take-off.
At this moment, the co-pilot-come-navigator came aboard and just nodded a curt “Hello” in Talya’s direction. The two men then went into the cockpit, sat at the controls, and in a few minutes, they were rolling down the runway. Talya was frozen with dread of the unknown. She had sealed her fate. She was ready. Her stomach had locked its door on swarming butterflies inside.
55
Hassan woke up early on Saturday. He felt a lot better. His mind was clear, although there were still a few things he couldn’t remember. Overall, there was a marked improvement over the past few days. Justine had left him in the evening and he had slept soundly. His first thoughts when he opened his eyes went to Talya. He hadn’t spoken to her since the day before. She sounded disappointed when she left. There was no need for Hassan to apologize for anything. He knew it. Nevertheless, he had a sense of guilt creeping up into the far recesses of his conscience. He couldn’t recall their entire argument. It wasn’t an argument, he told himself. It was just a discussion based on facts. He suddenly felt the urge to call her, to see her.
She must be awake by now. He picked up the phone, dialled her room number. There was no answer. He rang the receptionist.
“Maitre, how nice to hear that you are up and about, how are you feeling today? How can I be of service?”
“I’m fine, thank you,” Hassan replied. “Just a question: have you seen Madame Kartz this morning?”
“No, not yet; she hasn’t come down for breakfast. She must be in her room.”
“I just rang her number, but there was no answer.”
“How odd.... She may be in the shower—”
“I guess you’re right, I’ll ring her again in a little while. Thank you.”
Hassan hung up. He sat on the edge of his bed and wondered…. Usually Talya would be downstairs at this time. It was nine o’clock. He decided to take a quick shower, get dressed and surprise her by knocking on her door. He would invite her to have breakfast with him. He was ready within minutes. He took another dose of quinine before leaving, washing the tablets down with some orange juice.
He was elated at the prospect of seeing Talya not as a sickly, whining fellow, but as the man, he hoped she knew. Maybe he could go to Dakar after all. He felt strong enough.
As he stood in front of Talya’s door, he felt ill at ease. His heart was pounding. Never mind, you’re being idiotic.
He knocked, gently first, and waited. The busboy, passing along the corridor, stopped when he was in Hassan’s earshot.
“I don’t think Madame is in, Maitre.”
“What do you mean ‘not in’? What makes you say that?”
“I saw her this morning outside of the hotel as I came on shift.”
“What was she doing outside? How long ago was this?”
“It wasn’t long ago, Maitre, I get in at eight o’clock, and—”
“And what? Did you see anything? Did she go anywhere? Speak, man.” Hassan had raised his voice to the boy. He should never do that, and he silently reprimanded himself, although he was beginning to worry. His heart was racing.
He said, “Go and get Monsieur Gerald, right now, please go!”
The boy was already running. Hassan could hear him calling for the manager. He knocked on the door again, this time pounding his fist on it. Moments later Monsieur Gerald came hurrying down the passage.
“What is it, Maitre? Dalla tells me you were asking after Madame Kartz. Has anything happened?”
“I don’t know if anything has. Please, would you open this door?”
“Maitre, I can’t do that. Madame Kartz hasn’t checked out yet, I can’t let you in …”
“Monsieur Gerald, listen to me. I’m an attorney at law; I know what you can and cannot do. I’ll take full responsibility, just open the door.”
Hassan was getting angry. He knew something was amiss and the mystery of Talya’s absence could be elucidated quickly if only the manager would open the damn door.
Monsieur Gerald must have thought that his guest was suffering from the sequels of his recent illness to be suddenly so rude and demanding. He knew better, however, than to make any remark that would offend Hassan any further.
“Very well then,” is all he said instead. Then, and none too soon for Hassan, the man inserted the master key in the lock. Unable to stand it any longer, Hassan pushed Monsieur Gerald aside, opened the door and rushed in.
Talya wasn’t there. Her perfume still lingered. The bed covers were thrown aside. To his left, the bathroom door stood wide open. There was an odd silence about the place, drowning the noise coming from the balcony. He saw her suitcase beside the television stand. Talya’s radio was missing from the night table.
He opened the wardrobe, nothing. Empty. He slammed its door so hard that it practically broke off the hinges. He turned around and went to the writing table. There, well in evidence, propped up against the typewriter, were two envelopes: one addressed to Gerald, the other to him.
He called to the manager who had been standing motionless in the doorway.
The roughness in his voice was chilling when Hassan spoke. “She’s gone. There is a letter for you.”
He handed the envelope to Monsieur Gerald who had walked into the room cautiously.
“I apologize for my outburst, Monsieur Gerald,” Hassan said, while recovering some of his composure, “but as you can see, Madame Kartz has left without a word. If there are any charges for this room, just put it on my bill.”
While listening distractedly to Hassan’s comments, Monsieur Gerald opened his envelope, pulled the note from inside and read it.
“No, Maitre. There shouldn’t be anything more to pay. Madame Kartz has left some travellers’ checks for us to cover any outstanding expense. Everything should be fine. If you wish to stay here for a few minutes, I’ll just take the suitcase down to the baggage room.”
“Did she ask you to keep the case?”
“Yes. She said she’ll either come back for it or have it forwarded to Vancouver.”
“I’m sorry, really I am. I’ll just stay here for a moment. I’ll lock the door when I leave.”
Hassan accompanied the manager and busboy, carrying the suitcase to the door, and closed it behind them. He sat on the bed, open his envelope and read:
My Dearest Hassan,

For all the torments I have caused you in such a short time and since we’ve known each other, I apologize. For all the joyful moments you have given me, I thank you. For all the friendship and love you have shown me, I will be forever grateful. For all the loyalty you have demonstrated toward me and others, again, I thank you.
You have been the friend I will always remember. For the little I know of you, by this time, I would say you are worried. There is no need. I assure you. This affair has grown out of all proportions. Involving you in the first place was a business decision, which I will not regret. However, now, since I care deeply for you, I can no longer drag you into this nightmare. You have been very ill and it would be selfish of me to ask you to come with me today. Asking for your assistance, when I had no right to do so, was a mistake. I could not forgive myself should anything happen to either you or Mohammed were you to come to Dakar. So please, don’t follow me. It is enough that Rheza and even Savoi are embroiled in this business, although, that was of their own volition.
I have accepted an invitation from Ahmed Hjamal to visit him in Dakar. I departed today. Monsieur Hjamal has sent his private aircraft to pick me up. By the time you read these words, I should be flying overhead.
Should I be able to contact you, I will do so as soon as I possibly can.
In the meantime, Hassan, please rest. If everything goes well, I should be back next week for a couple of days, if not I’ll be going home to Vancouver directly.
I am sure the ambassador and James will want to know where I am. Please ask Mohammed to advise them of my unscheduled departure.
Keep well my friend,
With all my love,
Talya
56
Hassan sat for a long time. The hurt was so great that he felt numb. He remembered his mother. A man had come to take her away. Now, a man had come to take Talya away. Unwanted, but unchecked, tears rolled down his cheeks. He saw Talya laugh, the way she did four long days ago when they were down by the river. It was too much for him to bear alone.
There was a knock at the door. Like a robot, Hassan went to answer it. Mohammed was standing in the embrasure. Hassan handed him the letter and without a word, he turned and walked to the French door.
Mohammed knew his friend far too long not to realize something was terribly wrong. He closed the door. “Monsieur Gerald was in such a state of excitement that I didn’t ask what it was all about. I just asked him where you were, and…”
“Will you just read...?” Hassan ordered.
Mohammed sat on the bed and read. When he finished, he looked up at Hassan who was still standing by the balcony door.
“What do you want to do?”
“You know what I have to do, the question is whether I want to or not. She said that she does not want me to follow her.”
“Don’t be a fool, Hassan, we will not just sit here and do nothing. The letter is only a piece of information. She needs you. But she couldn’t very well plead for your help when you so much as said I’ll come, if and when I feel up to it. What’s more, today is Saturday; we can’t get in touch with either the ambassador or James Flaubert. We could try contacting the consul here if you want?”
Hassan had heard everything his friend told him but he was not heeding the comments nor answering the questions. He grabbed the letter from Mohammed’s hand and marched back to his room.
Mohammed hurried after him and stood in the doorway while Hassan packed his suitcase. When he had checked that all of the cupboards and drawers were empty and that he had locked his bag, Hassan said, “Are you coming?”
“Yes, of course I’m coming, where are we going?”
“To Dakar, Mohammed.”
“I gathered that. But, how?”
“We’ll charter a plane, that’s how.”
“Charter a plane! From where?”
“Please stop asking questions and follow me, will you?”
“All right, but first I’ll have to call my daughter, her mother is visiting friends, and…”
“Okay, okay, do it, but be quick about it.” Hassan’s voice was striking.
After a few minutes of excited conversation on the phone, both men walked quietly down the stairs. There was no need to alert the neighbourhood of their hasty departure.
Hassan went to pay his hotel bill and thanked the manager. “If anyone is asking for me just tell people that I can be reached at home over the weekend or at my office on Monday.”
“Thank you, Maitre. Hmm ... may I ask, is everything all right with Madame Kartz?”
“Yes, Monsieur Gerald, everything is fine, just keep her bag safe, she’ll be back next week, I’m sure.”
They drove in separate cars to Hassan’s house. He left his vehicle in the garage and they went together to Mohammed’s home. When they arrived, Mohammed’s daughter was standing on the front porch waiting for him, a suitcase at her feet. She had packed it in a hurry. Mohammed took the girl in his arms and held her for a long time.
Hassan looked at the both of them with misgivings. Wasn’t he selfish, too, to take his friend away from his family and drag him on a journey fraught with trouble? Nevertheless, Hassan couldn’t go back on his plea for Mohammed to accompany him—time was precious. They had to get to Dakar before nightfall. The dices were thrown in the game and their fate was now in Allah’s hands. They drove to the airport in silence—each deep in his own thoughts.
Hassan didn’t know if his friend, Samir, would be available to take them to Dakar. Samir had two aircrafts. He offered commuting for the professionals who needed to go somewhere in a hurry. Saturdays, however, were days he spent with his toys. Tinkering with his and everyone else’s planes was Samir’s idea of relaxation. Some people played golf, Samir played with airplanes—real ones!
Mohammed parked his car near the private airfield, in an area reserved for the prime minister’s staff. He knew that no one would dare steal a vehicle from that lot. They hurried toward the commuter’s lounge still not speaking; both lost in a tangle of uneasiness.
Hassan had calmed down. If there was any future in their relationship, he was not going to spend another moment away from Talya. She meant too much to him now. He was determined to take her away from all this torment and offer his life to her if she wanted him. That was the way of Islam—the way he had been taught. His dedication, his devotion to the first woman he had chosen had to be complete. Even if he were to marry more than once, he would abide by this precept. The guilt he felt earlier was now prominent in his mind. Guilty of not being enough of a man. Sick or not, he had denied a woman he loved the help she needed. He denied her what he practically forced her to accept in the first place. He had realized too late that love was a two way street, he couldn’t just demand and then reject emotions, friendship or even love, at whim. Not only had he offended his God, but the very person he wanted and needed so much.
More mundane thoughts occupied Mohammed’s mind. He felt a little odd at the moment. It was the first time he saw Hassan in such a huff over a woman. Yet, he remembered how he behaved when he first fell in love with his present wife. It was a much more sedate affair than what Hassan and Talya were going through. Nevertheless, he recalled the fervour with which he was expecting to marry. Soon it would be his daughter’s turn. Although she was still young, there were a couple of studs lurking about the house waiting to catch a glimpse of her when she went out. Her mother, he trusted, would soon advise him as to which was the chosen lad. There would be a traditional wedding… Suddenly, Mohammed was shaken out of his reveries.
Hassan was saying, “...I can see Samir over there,” pointing at the back of a man standing on the top rung of a stepladder, and bent half way into a plane’s engine.
“If we’re lucky we could be off in a few minutes.”
“Samir! How is the toy pilot today?”
Surprised, the man spun around and quickly tumbled down the ladder. “My, my, look at what the cat dragged in?” This American expression didn’t suit the tall Arab man advancing toward Mohammed and Hassan. “And, two of them, no less.”
Samir was a Touareg. A voyager of the desert, using modern means of transport, could be one way of describing this handsome nomad. His face was smooth, betraying no sign of age except perhaps for greying hair at the temples. His eyes were kind and watchful, his gaze piercing as that of an eagle.
Hassan introduced Mohammed to his friend. The latter salaamed in a traditional welcoming gesture.
“Monsieur Fade. It is a rare honour for this servant to receive such esteemed visitors in my humble shop. Pray, tell me, how can I serve you on this glorious day?”
“We know this is your day on the ground, Samir,” Hassan replied, somewhat embarrassed, “but we have a friend in distress. She’s in Dakar and we need to get to her before nightfall.”
“Say no more, my friends. A woman in distress, the songs of the desert are chiming in my ears. And who might she be, tell me?”
“She is the one for Hassan,” Mohammed interposed.
At these words, which were divulging his most private thoughts, Hassan turned and glared at Mohammed.
Samir brushed an amused glance by Mohammed before resting his eyes on Hassan. “Allah be praised. I thought I would never see the day.”
Hassan seemed unfazed by Samir’s comments – maybe a little irritated. “Would you take us?”
“Allah is smiling upon your fate, Hassan. I have this camel of the sky”—Samir indicated an airplane partly covered with a tarpaulin—“ready for a Sunday joy-ride that may not happen. It was a reservation that hasn’t been confirmed, so it shall be yours now.”
“We thank you. We shall remember you in our prayers,” Mohammed said, bowing slightly.
The three men pulled the canvas off the designated aircraft.
“This is a turbo-jet. Very nice indeed,” Hassan noted, admiring the plane’s sleek fuselage. “But how long would it take us to get to Dakar with this machine?”
“Let me see now…. Today’s weather conditions are fair. The wind from the West isn’t too strong, head wind you understand…. I should say about four hours.”
“Can’t we do it in three?” Hassan’s frustration had returned.
“No. I know you want to fly on the wings of love but we can’t, not with this méhari”—a rapid courier camel—“not even in the best of conditions, it would be simply impossible.”
“It’ll be fine,” Mohammed cut-in. “Allah will be with us and we will arrive at our destination when we are due to arrive.” He said these words more for Hassan’s benefit than for Samir’s.
After preparing the plane and rolling it out of the hangar with the help from two other attendants, Samir went into the airport terminal to file his flight plans with the control tower and change his clothes.
As soon as he was ready, he went to his aircraft, walked around it, chatted with the engineer standing by, and boarded the plane where Hassan and Mohammed were already awaiting to take off.
Samir was now transformed—no more joking, no more smiles and salaaming. As he sat in the cockpit, he instantly became the captain of his ship. He was in control, at the commands and all business.
57
An hour after take-off, the tension hadn’t left Talya. She had fear on the brain. Knowing she was going to Kedougou instead of Dakar was terrifying. Every minute brought her ever closer to her destination—the mine site. Was her fate to be sealed in the same way as Richard’s had been? Talya needed to do a major cerebral clean-up and find something that could get her back on track, so to speak.
Something eluded her, something important. Why would Hjamal want her in Sabodala? She didn’t want to think of any of the possible answers to that question. She had presumed that every one of her adversaries had something to gain by wanting her in Dakar—not in Sabodala. Was that presumption wrong? If so, why was it wrong? Talya knew Hjamal needed help with his gold-processing plant. She also had a hunch that Rasheed, for the most part, acted of his own accord. He had a lot to hide, of that she was sure. On the other hand, Talya had assumed Savoi ran off to Dakar to meet Hjamal. Was that a fair assumption? As for Rheza she was perhaps a mere pawn on this game board. Of that, Talya wasn’t sure. What about the Dutchman, how did he fit into the picture? What was he doing with the nitro-glycerine? Another question ran in front of the pack. How did Carmine’s money come into play? Was Hjamal also involved in the embezzlement of the funds? Talya was losing ground again. She was not cleaning up, she was adding to the clutter. She needed to stop speculating. While she was racking her poor cerebrum for answers, she noticed Pierre was leaving the cockpit.
He came to sit across from her. “How are you enjoying the flight so far?”
“It’s great actually. Much better than commercial flights, for privacy that is.”
“True, but really, this is not the top of the line. You should see some of the other jets I’ve had the pleasure to fly—they’re something else.”
“Oh, I see. You’re not Monsieur Hjamal’s personal pilot then?”
“Actually, no. The company that owns this aircraft pays my colleague and me. This jet is a bit like a chauffeured limousine. Our company has a contract with Monsieur Hjamal, not with us personally.”
“Well then, you could do almost anything you wish as long as you stayed within the contract’s boundaries?”
Pierre leaned back in the seat, crossed his legs and looked completely at home. “I’m glad you’ve said almost anything, because there are quite a few restrictions to the liberties I could take with this kind of aircraft.”
“For example?”
“Well, the size of it, for one thing, or its ground-speed at landing, for another. Those prevent me from taking this baby down in a farmer’s field. We need 1500 meters of solid tarmac plus a safety zone at both ends of the strip. So, I couldn’t take you to a deserted island, even if I’d like to.” He laughed and Talya smiled, panic slowly replacing dread.
“It’s like with our landing in Kedougou today. I couldn’t land—”
“What?” Talya faked total surprise at this announcement. Pierre straightened up his hands gripping the arms of the seat. He reminded her of a cat ready to pounce.
“Yes, my orders are to take you to Kedougou and—”
“I’ve heard you the first time. Whose orders are they?”
“Monsieur Hjamal, of course.” They looked at each other. “I can see that you knew nothing of this. How could that be?” It was his turn to be astonished (and not faking it). He reclined in the chair, holding Talya’s eyes in his gaze.
“I have no idea what is going on, Pierre. On Friday afternoon, Monsieur Hjamal invited me to come to Dakar. He never mentioned anything about my being dropped off in Kedougou.”
“I’m sorry no one has told you, but we’ll be landing in about an hour’s time at the town’s airport. I was told Monsieur Hjamal is meeting you there to take you to the mine site.”
What had been panic thus far slowly became determination to get to the truth. “Okay then, if that’s where Monsieur Hjamal wants us to meet, that’s where we’ll go.”
“Again, I’m sorry, but our flight plans have been filed already and I couldn’t just change them in mid-air.” Pierre’s red cheeks were getting redder with irritation. “We’re flying a commercial route and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t do it. I’d lose my job over something like this.”
Talya shook her head. “It’s okay, Pierre, don’t worry about it. We’ll see what happens when we get there.”

Soon after landing and when a cloud of dust began to mask the horizon, Pierre lowered the binoculars and turned to Talya. “You’re ride is here, Madame Kartz. Do you want us to wait…?”
“No, Pierre, that won’t be necessary. When we’re sure the vehicle is from the mine, you can leave me. I should be in good hands.” She shot him a tentative smile.
Pierre hesitated. “Alright then….” He didn’t want to leave this woman in the middle of nowhere. This whole thing didn’t feel right. “We’ll wait until we’re sure ‘you’re in good hands’ as you say.”
Two men climbed out of the Landrover and rushed toward Talya. Their ragged clothes and dirt-covered skins didn’t inspire confidence but their engaging smiles did.
As soon as they were on the road, Talya asked them how far the mine site was. She didn’t get an answer. An hour of a bumpy ride later, Talya stood in front of a hut at the end of a central road.
The man, who had climbed out of the Landrover with her, deposited her knapsack beside the door and looked down at her. “You go in and wait. We come later to give water to drink.”
Talya didn’t care about that; she wanted to know when Hjamal or Rasheed were going to show up. “Where is Monsieur Hjamal or Monsieur Rasheed? Are they here?”
The man smiled. “We come later,” he repeated. “You wait.”
“What’s your name?” Talya yelled to his back. He was already walking back to the Landrover.
Talya shrugged. She was not going to get anything out of him, she knew.
She pushed the door open to discover a two-room domicile freshly painted, tiled throughout and a bed standing to the one side of the main room. On the other side of a dividing wall she found a large tin basin filled with water and a sink fixed to the wall. She looked around her and sat on the bed. Not bad—not a prison anyway.

Pierre and John, the navigator, were not pleased with this situation. They had watched the Landrover go down the dirt track with misgivings. What would happen if Madame Kartz had no means of transport to complete her journey to Dakar? Hjamal had not given them any further instructions. They had simply been told Hjamal and the Rasheed guy would drive back to Dakar the next day.
Apparently having made up his mind, Pierre said, “Let’s go to town and get us a vehicle.”
“Do you want to drive to the mine?” John asked, knowing the answer already.
“Yes. This woman is not equipped to stay at a mine site. You’ve seen it—all she’s carrying is a shoulder bag—that’s hardly enough gear to stay anywhere.”
John nodded. “Besides, she told us Hjamal was expecting her in Dakar, didn’t she?”
“Yeah. Why don’t we call him on the radio and see if he’s home.”
“Okay.” John nodded again. “I don’t trust this guy. And that Rasheed is some piece of work—”
“Hjamal here,” the man said when he answered the radio call.
“This is Pierre Masson, sir. We’ve just dropped Madame Kartz in Kedougou. Do you want us to wait for her…?”
“Did you see Monsieur Rasheed?”
“No, sir, just the driver and one other man, why?”
“Never mind why. Get yourself a vehicle and go to the mine. She’s not supposed to visit the place alone. I’ll contact Rasheed and see where he is.”
“That’s a roger, sir. We’ll be in touch when we’ve found her and we’ll see you in Dakar.”
“Roger and out,” Hjamal said, cutting off the communication abruptly.

Left alone in the hut, Talya decided to take a look around the site. If Savoi and Rheza were held someplace in the compound, she wanted to find them. She made her way out of the hut furtively. Seeing no one observing her, she went down the dirt lane that would probably lead her to Hjamal’s plant—she hoped. Going down the steep hillside, she noticed a parking lot ahead with an assortment of trucks, Landrovers and tractors—all of them old and in need of repair, it seemed. Farther down the track and round a corner, a bench carved out of the hill hosted a long line of equipment surrounding a water pond. The ball mill and crusher Richard had described in his letter were well in evidence. Yet, what was also evident was the fact that this machinery was ominously silent and appeared to have been in this dormant state for quite some time.
Talya walked along the road adjacent to the processing line for some five minutes until she neared the two buildings she had seen from the top of the hill. She made her way to the first one and found its door locked. She shook her head and went round it to the second building. This one was open. She went inside and discovered a fully furnished lab with assay equipment encumbering several tables. In one of the crucibles she noticed two little gold pellets. That plant is producing gold—not much by the looks of it, though.
She went out and closed the door of the lab gently, all the while looking around her to see if anyone was watching her. No one was in sight, which fact bothered her a little. Where is everyone? The answer was staring at her a hundred yards down the road. A group of men were prostrated in prayer, their backs to her. It was two o’clock—prayer time. This ritual would probably last another ten minutes—at the most—and Talya had no time to lose. She needed to return to the hut unseen. She quickly and silently made her way back up the hill and to her temporary residence. She waited. She thought someone would come to fetch her, but, when looking at her watch, she realized that a half-an-hour had passed and no one had shown up, she wondered why she had been brought up here. It made no sense. Hjamal had said he wanted to meet her in Dakar…. Where is he? Does he know I’m here?
Suddenly, she heard voices outside and a car stop in front of the door. She opened it cautiously only to have it pushed wide open in her face. She stumbled back to find Pierre grabbing her by the arm before she fell backward.
“What are you doing here?” Talya blurted, stunned.
“Don’t say anything, Madame Kartz, and come with us. We’re bringing you back to Dakar.”
“Right now?”
“Yes, right now!”
The men outside had surrounded a Landrover with John at the wheel. The men that Talya assumed to be workers seemed impatient and not at all happy with what was happening.
Pierre pushed Talya into the backseat—a bit roughly, she thought—and went to sit in the front seat beside John.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said to the navigator. The latter nodded and revved the vehicle before turning it round and driving out of the camp rather quickly.
58
Once Talya had regained her seat in the Lear’s comfortable cabin, she decided to let Pierre know a little more than he seemed to do about this affair. When they reached cruising altitude once again, Pierre came back to sit opposite her.
“Why did you come and get me?” Talya asked him.
“Because I contacted Hjamal in Dakar and when he learned that Monsieur Rasheed didn’t come to meet you at the strip, he told me to get a vehicle and to bring you to Dakar as originally planned.”
“So, he was in Dakar, was he?”
“Yes, he was. It’s when you told me that Monsieur Hjamal had invited you to come to Dakar and you didn’t know anything about the Kedougou stop-over, that I wondered what was going on.”
“I tell you what, Pierre: if you had not come back, I would have had you arrested for kidnapping at the first opportunity I got. Not only that, but the Canadian ambassador is expecting me in Dakar, he has been advised of our approximate time of arrival.” Pierre was agape. “What’s more, and since you made the decision to alert Monsieur Hjamal and you came back to get me, I should tell you that he is under suspicion of murder. One of my colleagues has been killed under very strange circumstances. He was an employee of Monsieur Hjamal.” Pierre looked down at the table between them.
A moment later, he exhaled and raised his face to Talya. “That explains a lot.” He pointed his right index finger at her. “Thank you for telling me this” He stood up, grabbed the edge of the table, and bent over. “But, you’ll have to tell me what this is all about in more details.” He then turned on his heels toward the front of the cabin.
With an almost imperceptible smile coming across his lips, Pierre went in and sat at the controls.
Talya breathed an audible sigh of relief. She hadn’t noticed it until then but she was trembling, and perspiration was beading on her forehead. The back of her shirt was wet and sticking to her seat.
Pierre was a French citizen, not employed directly by Minorex. He clearly didn’t want to abet a client—and a good one at that—into any sort of criminal activities. There was nothing worse for an aircraft company than to be involved, even remotely, with what looked like the abduction of a passenger.


59
An hour into the flight, Samir took off his earphones and beckoned to his passengers. “If you’re not sleeping back there, would you mind handing me something to drink from the fridge behind me?”
Mohammed, who was closest to the cockpit, opened the cooler they had put on board before take-off, and handed their friend an ice-cold soda.
“Hassan, come and join me here,” Samir said, after drinking a long gulp. “You’ll be much more comfortable. I promise I won’t crash while you’re beside me, Allah would never forgive me if I did.”
Almost reluctantly, Hassan went to join the pilot and sat in the navigator’s seat. He soon realized Samir was right. He began to feel the tension subside.
Mohammed was also a little more relaxed now. They were at cruising altitude and the little plane seemed to be floating in the middle of the sky—no more sensation of acceleration—it was as if they weren’t moving.
“We’ll be over the Falémé in about forty minutes,” Samir said, brushing a quick glance in Hassan’s direction. “If you like, I can fly a little lower to show you some of the sights. It’s a beautiful country, you know.” Hassan was looking out the window at his elbow. “There is a mine ten minutes past the border. The owner is quite mad apparently.”
Mohammed, who had seen—rather than heard—them talking, got up and went to stand behind them at the cockpit’s door.
Samir was saying, “…he’s hired a jet last month. It was still there on the tarmac in Bamako an hour before you two showed up.”
Startled by this revelation, Hassan turned to stare at Samir.
“Do you know the owner?” Mohammed asked from behind Samir’s shoulder.
“No, I don’t, not personally, Monsieur Fade. People talk, you understand, especially when someone hires a Lear and practically never travels with it.”
Hassan’s impatience resurfaced. “Did you see them take off?”
“Yes, sure, it’s always a beautiful sight to see that bird taking flight.”
“What I meant was: did you see the people leaving with the plane this morning?”
“That’s a roger,” Samir replied, keeping his eyes on the clouds and the sky stretching ahead of them. “There was a woman with them. I had seen her going to the passengers’ lounge as I came in myself. I only saw her from the back, mind you. She has blond, almost white hair. I noticed her because she was rushing after the pilot. It looked funny; she had a hard time keeping up the pace following him.” Samir turned his head and met Hassan’s worried gaze. “Oh. I see. That’s the lady in distress, is it?”
Mohammed, who had been listening to the conversation, began to understand what could have happened. “Tell me, Samir; is it possible for the Jet to land at the mine site?”
“Oh no—not yet it isn’t. Those babies have to have solid tarmac, a real runway, to touch down. None of these stretches of dirt will do for these toys.”
What may have happened to Talya became clearer. Mohammed had to confirm his suspicion. “If they were to go to the mine site, where would they land then?”
“I’d say Kedougou. That would be the closest strip they could use.”
Hassan couldn’t keep still or quiet anymore. “Will you contact the tower in Kedougou and ask them if they have seen the Jet today, please?”
Samir’s eyebrows shot up. “No, Hassan, I can’t. Do you know what you’re asking? This isn’t a phone booth. I can’t just call them and ask, ‘Oh, by the way did you see that plane and can you tell me where it’s going?’ That’s against the rules.”
“Can’t you just break the rules then, or bend them a little? This is an emergency. We’ve got to find out where she’s gone.”
“And you have got to tell me what this is all about. I thought the lady was going to Dakar, and—”
“Not here,” Hassan flared, irritated by Samir’s queries. “When we get to Dakar, whenever that’ll be, I’ll tell you. Just trust me.”
“We know what we’re asking may be quite irregular,” Mohammed put-in, “but we have reasons to believe the lady, whose name is Talya Kartz, by the way, may be in serious danger.”
“Monsieur Fade, you just had to look at Hassan’s face a moment ago to know he wasn’t joking.”
At these words, Samir put on his earphones and started talking in an incomprehensible gibberish used by pilots the world over. A few moments later, he took off the headset again. “The jet landed in Kedougou all right. They stayed on the tarmac for a couple of hours and then took off again. Their final destination is still Dakar.”
“You mean they dropped her off and continued on to Dakar?” Hassan shouted. Shaken to the bones, he couldn’t contain himself—he wanted to get out of this darn plane. He unbuckled his belt.
“Hold on, Hassan, there is nothing to worry about, I’m sure.” Samir said. “They probably went with her to the mine for a short visit and they’re on their way to Dakar now. Maybe this was planned ahead of time.”
“But why would they do that? There must be something wrong….”
Mohammed had to intervene again. Hassan was becoming a pest.
“Please don’t mind Hassan, Samir, he hates to be sitting here all tied up and powerless. Talya means a lot to him and he just gets out of control when she’s away and possibly in danger.”
“I understand. Hassan will pay for this later, believe me.” Samir looked at the latter, grinning.
Hassan couldn’t help but return the smile although he felt utterly miserable. Defeated in his purpose he buckled up again.
Mohammed regained his seat. His legs were stiff from kneeling. After a few minutes, letting his thoughts wander, he dozed off.
Hassan, on the other hand, was far from feeling drowsy. His mind was navigating amid a sea of anger, guilt and misery. He wanted the plane to land this very minute. He checked his wristwatch—two more hours, before he’d see Talya again. The waiting had become intolerable.
60
Within twenty minutes from letting the gear down to land in Dakar, Pierre came out of the cockpit. He looked down at his passenger. She was staring out at the clouds beyond the window. She looked absent. She appeared deaf. He sat in the same seat opposite Talya. “Madame Kartz, we’ll be landing in less than a half-an-hour—”
Talya looked up at him—their eyes locked. Almost mechanically, she gave him an answer. “I promised you the whole story, so here it is….”
When Talya finished telling him what she wanted him to know, no more, no less, she said, “I hope you believe me.”
“This is the first time something like this ever happened to me, and yes, I do believe you,” Pierre replied. As for the trouble we may find waiting for us in Dakar, it’s no trouble at all. In fact, our company was quite annoyed with Monsieur Hjamal—”
Suddenly as if a voice called him from the blue yonder, Pierre got up and rushed to the cockpit, shouting over the engine’s noise, “Please buckle up, we’re landing shortly.”
Talya did as requested and relaxed. She was calm. No more fear. Just sheer determination was motioning her every thought. She was on her way to the place where all the missing pieces of this fantastic puzzle would be brought together and the picture revealed.
It was 14:15, when the Lear touched down. As soon as the plane came to a standstill in front of a hangar—not much better looking than the shack they had left behind in Bamako—Pierre came back and sat down once again.
Facing Talya, he looked into her eyes. “The ambassador isn’t here, as you can see.” He pointed out the window. “But don’t worry, I still believe you. I gather you don’t want to go to the Terranga?”
What a silly question.
“You’re right at that. There is no way I’d set foot in that hotel. But, I have a reservation at the Meridien for tomorrow.”
“Well then, we’ll take you to the Meridien. I’ll put you up in the suite that my company maintains there. You’ll be safer there than if you take up your reservation. But Monsieur Hjamal will know that you’re in Dakar the minute I contact him.”
Talya grinned. “That’s alright. I’ll see him tomorrow…, as originally planned.”
By this time, the navigator had joined them. “Madame Kartz, my name is John—and let’s leave it at that for now. Pierre has told me briefly, what’s going on. As his co-pilot, I can’t go against his orders when we’re in the air, but when we’re on the ground, that’s another matter. Down here, I trust him as a friend. After hearing your story, I think you can count on my support as well. We don’t like con-artists and criminals in general, and we certainly don’t want to work for one.”
“All I can say, gentlemen, is thank you for coming back to get me out of the mine site.” Talya felt very relieved. “I really appreciate what you’ve done, believe me.”
Not expecting to find any support or a helping hand on the ground, now that the game had taken an unexpected turn, Talya was glad to have these two men to escort her to the safe haven that the Meridien should be.
John smiled. He then turned and left Talya and Pierre, to get the door opened and the stairwell lowered. John was a handsome young man, tall with a nonchalant attitude. Yet he seemed to have inner-peace that made Talya feel comfortable in his presence. He spoke French fluently with a slight African-English accent. His caramel complexion was smooth as a baby’s bottom. With his curly black hair and thin black moustache, light brown eyes and high cheekbones, he looked like a celebrated movie actor straight out of the 1930’s picture films.
Talya shot an inquisitive glance in John’s direction. “He said his name was John, but he didn’t want to tell his last name. Why was that?”
Pierre smiled. “We call him John.” He must have been asked the same question hundreds of times. “His last name is too hard for anyone to pronounce or to remember. He’s from Ethiopia but he was raised in a French boarding school. He did his training in England. And, I’ll tell you a little secret, when he’s out of uniform he’s quite a character.”
“What about you, where were you trained?”
“In France, at the Aeronautic School near Paris. I really didn’t enjoy the training—much too rigid for me. I could hardly wait to get ‘my wings’. I only did the schooling because without it, commercial flying would have been out of reach, and when I started flying, there was no holding me back. I was like a kid at Christmas. Every time I had the yoke in my hands, I was happy. Even now, it’s like that. I can’t imagine doing anything else.”
They unloaded their luggage, and a few items that would remain at the airport waiting for their next flight. The ground attendants went deftly at their tasks and after gathering her meagre belongings, John directed Talya to the hangar where an immigration officer was waiting for them. After filling out the landing forms, having everyone’s passports stamped, John led Talya out of the hangar to a waiting car.
“We’ll wait for Pierre in the car,” he said. “He has to file the flight report and lock the engines. He won’t be long.”
“Thank you,” Talya replied, climbing in the back seat of the vehicle. “Pierre tells me you’re from Ethiopia?”
“Yes. My parents were fortunate enough to be able to send me away when I was a boy. I hope to return to my country some day soon, when I have saved enough money to buy them a nice house for when they get old.”
61
The clock on the control panel was showing 15:00. Hassan unbuckled his seat belt. He wanted to stretch his legs and get a drink from the cooler.
Samir stopped him. “Don’t tell me you want to miss the landing?”
“You mean it? We’re actually going to land?” Hassan could not believe it.
“Oh yes, we are. Your nightmare is nearly over. We had a tail wind since a little before Tambacounda and we’ll be on the tarmac in fifteen minutes.” Samir smiled at his friend. At last they were landing. Hassan buckled up, this time with some keenness in his movements.
“You’re serious? But I don’t see the strip yet.”
“You don’t have to see it, but it’s there just below these clouds. Let me show you.”
Matching action to words, Samir smoothly turned the aircraft to the left and started his descent through the cotton balls ahead of them. Samir put on his headset again and returned to his ‘pilot talk’ to the Dakar control tower.
Hassan was alert, yet apprehensive. Somehow, he believed Talya had not stayed in Sabodala—she was safe, and in Dakar. He tried to think were she would have gone after landing. Hjamal had invited her, probably to his home. Knowing Talya, she wouldn’t go there first, it would be throwing herself into the proverbial lion’s den, and she was too smart for that, unless she’d been forced to do it. The ambassador had reserved rooms at the Meridien. Yes, that’s where she must be … unless she’s still in Kedougou.
Samir looked at him—it was time to recall Hassan to attention. “Would you tell Monsieur Fade to buckle up, please?”
Hassan turned his head around and practically yelled at the top of his lungs, “Mohammed. If you are still of this world would you buckle up, we’ll be landing soon.”
Over the noise of the engine, Mohammed didn’t hear his friend call. He had fallen in a deep slumber from which he would only awake after touch down.

62
When they arrived at the Meridien Talya was in awe. Majestically dominating the tip of a promontory, the edifice itself could have been easily compared to a mosque. To the right of this magnificent sandstone structure, a golden cupola rested over a low building extension such as the arm of a giant holding a golden ball. To the left, and partly encircling the complex, the ocean’s expanse encroached on it with the fiery rage of crashing waves. A modest plaque, near the entrance told Talya this ‘guest house’ had been designed, built and donated by King Fahd of Saudi Arabia. The building had been erected originally for the purpose of hosting a symposium, which had taken place some years earlier.
The lobby wasn’t a ‘lobby’ per se. This circular reception hall rose to the full height of six marble columns. Daylight streamed through the huge dome above. From its moulded brass rim, ancient lamps descended to some three meters above the floor. The number ‘six’ has significance in Islam and it seemed to have played a major role in the design of the edifice. Six floors encircled the hall, hosting a total of three hundred and ninety six rooms. On each floor there were six corridors counting eleven rooms each, which is the numerical representation of Allah, or sixty-six rooms per floor.
A number of chairs and small antique escritoires were set against the columns. Multicoloured, intricately woven carpets partly covered the marble floor. An incredible sense of peace and respect enveloped her as Talya entered the place.
The front desk area stretched along two walls partially recessed under the floor above. Discreet spotlights set under the counter illuminated its elaborately carved wooden base. From the hall and beyond a large archway, Talya entered what is called an ‘atrium of life’. A young baobab stood massively at the centre of it. This ‘tree of life’, as it is referred to in the Koran, was surrounded by an impressive terrarium of exotic plants and flowers, and covered by a gigantic glass cupola. It was probably the one Talya observed when they came in.
There were a dozen leather-covered sofas placed at an angle around the terrarium. Standing over immense Persian rugs, a number of men were talking in soft voices. The spotlights casting their beams from the low ceiling encircling the cupola shone discreetly over the green and white marble floor, while avoiding the carpets. Talya would have taken her shoes off if she hadn’t been told this was a hotel and not a mosque.
She hadn’t accompanied Pierre and John to the registration desk. They had told her to wait for them in the atrium. They joined her a few minutes later, handing her the key to her ‘new home’, as John called it. They went up the lift and walked along a large corridor, on the sixth floor to the suite now assigned to her diminutive self—she felt very small indeed amid the grandeur surrounding her.
In an instant, the electronic key unlocked the door to her domain. The suite was in fact a large apartment. Talya’s mouth fell open when she passed the threshold.
“Wow!” Finally, she had found a word to interrupt her amazement and then a sentence came out, “Pierre, John, this is unbelievable. I can’t possibly accept to stay here. I don’t know what to say.”
“Would you prefer we drive you to the Terranga?” Pierre asked, snickering.
Talya smiled. “This is the most magnificent snare anyone has ever lured me into. I’m very much indebted to you both.”
“Never mind that,” John said. “Please, make yourself comfortable. We’ll go to our regular rooms and let you sleep or do what ever your heart desires for a few hours. We need to call our boss and advise him of these new developments. We’ll ring you later to see if you are free to have dinner in our humble company.”
“Of course, I’ll be free. I’ll make sure of it. In the meantime, I’ll follow your advice and rest for awhile. And again, thank you.”
They both walked to the door together, leaving Talya to admire the exquisite taste with which her new home had been decorated. Quite incredible! There were two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room and a dining room both opening onto an immense terrace dominating a swimming pool, an outdoor restaurant and the ocean beyond. This is too much, really. What am I supposed to do with all this space? Perhaps I should organize a tea party for the ambassador. The ambassador! Talya had completely forgotten about him.
She went to the one bathroom. Good gracious! A Jacuzzi! Talya stood agape in front of the sunk-in bathtub. Shaking her head, she opened the tap, lifted the lid of one of the jars lined-up on the bath-shelf, and poured some blue salts in the sparkling water. It had been weeks since she had luxuriated in one of those soapy clouds. As the blue water ran into the tub, she went on a tour of her kingdom.
Cream, thick carpets covered the entire suite. The bedrooms had nothing left to be desired, sumptuous and inviting beds in each of them. In one room, dark green flowery cushions emphasized the design of the bedspread and recalled the light green striped wallpaper colours. The second bedroom was a repeat of the same décor, this time in blue. There were lithographs on each wall—landscapes in the green room and seascapes in the blue one.
In the spacious living room, the white four-seat sofa and chairs were arranged about a long table. A black tree stump supported its glass-top, in the middle of which, a brightly-coloured flower arrangement broke the whiteness of the furniture. In the corner to the left of the entrance, there was a bar with four white padded stools standing opposite. A couple of spotlights shone on the series of glasses and decanters arranged on the built-in glass shelves behind it. Encased ceiling lights were casting patches of white and faint pink over the floor and furniture, the effect of which promised to be even more striking at night.
In the dining room, six black chairs around the lacquered table stood proudly in front of a matching sideboard over which the decorator had chosen to hang a vividly coloured abstract painting. There was an enormous crystal bowl of fruit in the centre of the table.
On the terrace, there were three chairs, a lounge chair and a glaze-topped table.
There were magazines on the coffee table, drinks of all kinds in the bar and colourful cushions strewn all about the place. And ... all those treacherous mirrors in the bathrooms—no disguise, make-up or a hair out of place would stand the scrutiny of their reflection.
Once undressed, Talya descended slowly into heaven; yes, ‘Heavenly’ was the word she would have used to describe the sensation. She read the latest Vogue and sipped on an ice-cold bissap juice, of which she found a big jug in the fridge below the bar. She had forgotten the purpose of her visit.
63
As soon as they landed, and they were taxiing toward the private airport, Samir and Hassan saw the Lear parked in front of the passengers’ lounge. Had there been a possibility for Hassan to jump out of the aircraft, and run after his quest, he would have done so. As for Mohammed: the wheels touching the ground had been enough to bring him out of the dream world. All three men lost no time. Once Samir’s plane arrived at the hangar, they alighted from the aircraft and unloaded their cases. Samir went to the tower to file his flight report while his passengers went through customs and waited impatiently by the exit door, where Samir joined them a few minutes later. They hailed a cab and directed the chauffeur to the Meridien.
Upon reaching their destination, Hassan didn’t take any time to admire the surroundings. He went immediately to the reception desk, Mohammed in tow. There, he was promptly informed that ‘no’, they had not registered a Madame Kartz as a hotel guest during the past two hours, but they still had a reservation in her name for the next day.
Upon hearing this, Hassan was on the verge of collapse. Mohammed didn’t know what else they could do. They both went to sit in the atrium near the baobab.
“What do you suggest we do now? Where is she?” Hassan asked.
“I don’t know. She may have gone to Hjamal’s place since he invited her.”
“No. She wouldn’t have done that, I’m sure she wouldn’t.”
“Maybe the pilots left her at the mine.”
“I’ll kill them. I swear to you. If this Hjamal touched her, I’ll kill him…”
“Hold on, Hassan, let’s wait for Samir and listen to what he has to say.”
The Touareg had remained by the desk. He had silently watched his two companions getting nowhere with the clerk. He let them go to the atrium alone. Then, when they were out of earshot, he turned to the receptionist. “Perhaps you could help me, Miss Katy…” He had read the nametag pinned on her dress. “Do you recall seeing the two Air Location pilots this afternoon? I’m a colleague of theirs. I just landed myself. I need to return an item left at the airport by their passenger.”
“Yes, Captain. They’ve registered an hour ago and they also assigned their suite to a lady they had brought along with them.”
“Thank you, Miss Katy. I’ll just call my friends to come and register. We will need to stay the night.”
Samir walked away from the desk and went to sit with Hassan and Mohammed. The smile on his face spelled victory.
“Well, gentlemen, this humble servant has brought you at your destination and has found the lady you were searching for.”
Hassan, abashed by the events, barked at Samir, “That’s impossible!”
Ignoring the rebuff with a shrug, Samir turned to Mohammed. “Monsieur Fade, would you mind hearing me out. At least you, I’m sure, will believe the word of a Touareg.”
“Of course. Hassan meant no disrespect. Please go on.”
“Madame Kartz is here. She’s been escorted to a suite, which the pilots assigned to her. If you wish, I’ll find out which suite it is and we can go and see her.”
Hassan had been listening reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. Please forgive me,” he muttered.
“Allah will forgive you, if he has not done so already. As for me, I only wish for you to heed my guidance.”
Mohammed hesitated. “What do we do now?”
“Come with me,” Samir said. “You both shall register as my guests. And, follow my lead.”
“All right, let’s go then.” Already, Hassan was up and marching toward the registration desk.
Samir grabbed his arm. “Hassan, please … take my lead.”
They went together, walking calmly, to the awaiting receptionist. They filled out their registration cards and were each given a key to their respective rooms on the fifth floor.
While Miss Katy conversed in Arabic with Samir for a moment, the busboy took the three men’s luggage to their rooms then the trio went up the lift to the sixth floor. They walked silently down the corridor and stopped in front of Talya’s suite. Since Samir had motioned them to keep quiet, they had not uttered a word after leaving the hall.
Samir whispered into Hassan’s ear, “Your lady is in here. Just knock and she will come to you.”
Now that he was only a few feet away from her, Hassan was frozen on the spot. He recalled Talya’s words in her letter: “Please don’t follow me ...”
Mohammed knocked on the door.
64
Talya heard the knock. It had only been two hours since John and Pierre had left. They’d said they would ring her before dinner. Unless they wanted to eat at four o’clock in the afternoon, the visitor wanting entry was unexpected.
Talya was curious but on her guard. She opened the door.
“Hassan…. My God! What are you doing here? Mohammed?” The blood ran up and down her. Seeing them standing there, she could hardly believe her eyes. There was a third man with them. He was dressed in a pilot’s uniform.
“Are you all right?” Hassan’s voice sounded anxious.
“Yes, yes, please, come in, come in.” Talya’s heart was still beating so fast, she wanted to sit down.
“Maybe I should leave you...?” the pilot said.
“No-no, Samir,” Hassan said to the man. “If Talya doesn’t mind, I think you should stay.”
“No, I don’t mind,” Talya said quickly, “but please, do come in. I don’t want to attract undue attention.”
They all trooped through the passage and Talya directed everyone to the living room. Quietly, as if no one dared speak first, they all sat down. The men looked tired.
When Talya had recovered from the shock and found her voice, she lifted her eyes to Hassan. “You look a lot fitter than when I left you. Who was the medicine man who put you back on your feet so quickly?”
“Why did you do it? Why did you leave?” Hassan’s stare didn’t leave her face.
Sitting beside her on the sofa, he had grabbed her hand and seemed in no mood to releasing it any time soon. Mohammed, on the other hand, was watching Talya as if he had not laid eyes on her in eons. His emotions were painted across his face. He looked happy, relieved, embarrassed and maybe a little worried yet—all at once.
“Before getting into all of this, I think we should introduce Samir,” Mohammed said.
Hassan nodded. “Yes, you’re right. I’m sorry. Talya, this is Captain Samir Shaykh Sahab, the person who so graciously brought us to Dakar.”
The man sitting opposite Talya was tall, and although a uniform could be deceiving, this one didn’t fool her at all. Samir Shaykh Sahab was built like an athlete, his body beautifully sculpted. He had keen, light brown eyes and his bronzed skin was as smooth as velvet. Somehow, Talya was sure he was a Touareg. He had the presence of a man of the desert.
“Captain, I’m humbled by your presence in my house. I’m grateful to you for bringing my friends to Senegal. I hope the chore of escorting them was as pleasurable for you as the joy of seeing them again is for me.”
“Madame Kartz, it is an honour to meet you at the end of this voyage. Bringing our friends to you wasn’t a chore, it was a challenge.” This one is a character. They laughed. Hassan smiled. He looked slightly embarrassed.
“Talya, please, I beg of you, tell us what happened. What made you do this? How did you end up here in this not so humble place?” Hassan was looking around at the décor.
“All in good time, Hassan. First, I want to know if you’ve explained to Captain Sahab what brought him, and the two of you, to Dakar.”
Samir smiled. “Hassan and Monsieur Fade had no real opportunity to elaborate on the purpose of their escapade.” I really like this man’s choice of words—an ‘escapade’ indeed. “All I needed to know was that they wanted my help. Since I could provide it, I had no choice but to fly them down.”
“Nevertheless, I think Hassan owes you an explanation.” Talya looked pointedly at the man whom she had left only 24 hours ago, then unable to speak coherently.
He returned her gaze and turned to Shaykh Sahab.
“The description I’m about to give you of this case may surprise you. Perhaps, after you’ve heard it, you may not wish to be involved with it any further than what you already are. However, as an attorney, I need to ask you to keep everything you’re about to hear in the strictest confidence.”
Hassan was regaining his composure. He seemed to have regained control of all his faculties. Evidently, the disease had left no visible aftermath.
“I can recognize when confidence is needed, believe me,” Samir said. “I had an inkling there was more to this than just bringing you and Monsieur Fade to Dakar. So you can rest with peace in your heart, as Allah is my witness, that what you’re about to tell me will remain with me for as long as necessary.” This man is no fool. He’d given his word allowing himself just the right amount of leeway.
Shaykh Sahab then closed his eyes, reclined in his chair and listened.
Hassan was a talented storyteller. Most courtroom attorney’s are. No relevant details were left out. When he came to the point where Talya had left early that morning, he turned to her. “Now, the rest is up to you.”
Shaykh Sahab opened his eyes and looked at her as if he was about to devour her every word.
“Captain, what I’ve done since eight o’clock today is quite simple…”
“Madame Kartz,” he interrupted, “before you continue, I’ll ask you to do me the great honour to call me Samir, if you please?”
“It will be my pleasure, Samir. I’m thankful for your gesture of friendship and I hope to be worthy of the trust it implies.”
“I’m now ready for you to go ahead with your story, Madame.” His manners were so attuned with Islamic schooling that Talya wondered if a Mullah had raised him.
“Since I’ve left Bamako I’ve started playing chess with my adversary,” Talya began. “Yesterday afternoon, Monsieur Hjamal phoned me and invited me to come to Dakar. However, once I got to the airport this morning, I discovered that his intentions were slightly different—he had ordered the Air Location pilots to drop me off in Kedougou. From there I was to go to the mine site, which I did.” She paused. The three men nodded—they knew she had gone to Sabodala. “Once I was at the site, and since no one locked me in anywhere, I went down to the plant and had a look around. The processing line seemed not to have been running for sometime, although I found some small gold bullion in the lab near the plant.”
“And nobody stopped you when you went on your little tour of the property?” Hassan sounded perplexed.
“No. The driver—I mean the man that came with the driver at the landing strip dropped me off in front of the hut at the end of the mining village and told me to wait. Apart from these two I hadn’t seen anyone until I arrived at the other end of the processing line. I hadn’t realized it, but it was prayer time by then and all of the men were praying at the bottom of the lane.”
“How did you get back on the plane then?” Mohammed asked.
“Well, that was a bit of luck. You see, when Pierre and John—those are the pilot and navigator who brought me down—when they noticed that neither Hjamal nor Rasheed had come to meet me when we landed, they contacted Hjamal in Dakar. He told them that I wasn’t supposed to visit the mine alone and to come and get me.”
“So, you think Hjamal didn’t know you were going to the mine?” Hassan asked.
“No, he knew alright, but apparently he didn’t know Rasheed wasn’t there to give me a guided tour as it were.”
“And what happened then? How come you ended up here and not in the room you had reserved?” Hassan’s voice hinted at the touch of jealousy he seemed to display off and on.
“Well, since Pierre and John had been smart enough to call Hjamal and to come to my rescue, so to speak, I told them what I thought they should know about Hjamal and his enterprise. As you may be aware, the jet that came to get me in Bamako does not belong to Minorex. It’s under a leasing contract. Air Location would have had a hard time explaining my planned abduction to the local authorities.”
Talya stood up and went to the bar. “Any of you want something to drink before I go on?”
“No, we’re fine,” Hassan replied.
Samir looked over the back of his chair. “Hassan was only speaking for himself. If you have some juice, I’ll be glad to have a glass.”
“While you’re serving, I’ll have something, too,” Mohammed rejoined.
“All right then, if everybody is having something I’ll have a glass of juice also,” Hassan said impatiently.
Talya smiled and shook her head. “I thought you’d be thirsty.”
She served everyone their drinks and saw Hassan pull a little canister of pills from his pocket—quinine.
She sat down again and took up where she’d left off. “I would say that by now, Monsieur Hjamal has been advised that I’m in Dakar.” Talya took a sip of her juice and went on, “As to what I plan to do next, I have not decided yet. Several factors will be influencing my approach. First, where is the Dutchman? The man was supposed to contact me days ago. Second, Monsieur Hjamal knows where Rheza McLean and Savoi are, I’m sure of it. I didn’t have time to find out if they were anywhere near the plant when I was there. Or, and I hate to think of this alternative, they’re both in collusion with Hjamal or even being blackmailed into participating in his scheme.”
Mohammed understood the meaning of that last suggestion. He nodded with a rueful look in his eyes.
“Third, I’ll have to face Hjamal and this Rasheed character fairly soon I suspect. Lastly, as soon as the authorities in Bamako have advised the Dakar police that I’ve skipped town, I should expect to be questioned as a witness, because, remember, we have a murder in our hands.”
Samir had been intent on Talya’s every word. He now sat up and looked at the three of them in turn. “Madame Kartz, I thank you for providing me with the many pieces of this puzzle. I’m not sure yet as to how I may be able to assist the three of you to clear up this mess. However, when I accepted to bring Hassan and Monsieur Fade to Dakar, I became involved.” Directing his comments to Hassan in particular, he went on, “Leaving you now would be offensive to Allah, and really that isn’t something I’m in a habit of consciously doing.”
“Samir,” Hassan said, “you have a business to run. Maybe you should return to Bamako as early as it’s suitable for you to fly?”
“I appreciate your concern, Hassan, but how could I miss all this fun? I have an idea I’ll enjoy this little interlude very much indeed.” They all chuckled. Samir had a warped sense of humour, Talya decided. He also had a way of making everyone feel at ease.
“How would you propose to assist us then?”
“Monsieur Fade, to answer your query adequately, I need time to reflect and pray for guidance. We are in an oasis now. It is proper therefore, to account for the past and to plan for the future.”
Turning to Talya once more, he rose. “If you’ll permit me, Madame, I will now retire to my room to meditate on this most interesting quandary.”
Talya got up, indicating her assent for him to leave. “Once again, please accept my gratitude for everything you’ve done so far. The desert will be kind to you. It will open the routes of your future, I’m sure.” Talya was grateful for remembering some of her father’s teachings.
Mohammed, in the meantime, had extricated himself from his comfortable chair and was visibly preparing to take his leave as well. “It was a great relief to see you’re safe and sound,” he said. “Now, if you will allow me, I’ll do the same and go to my room. I’m sure Hassan needs some time alone with you right now.” He winked and flashed a smile at Hassan.
The latter took his friend by the arm, and escorted both men to the door. Speaking in Bambara, Talya couldn’t understand anything of what they said.
Hassan then returned to the living room to face her. “I have something to ask you…. Would you promise me never to do this again…?”
“Hassan, I…”
“Let me, please. I know my attitude hasn’t been the best. I also know you had to leave Bamako. However, as your friend, I think I deserved better than a letter telling me to stay in bed while you were preparing to confront a murderer in a game of chess, as you put it.”
“What did you want me to do?” Talya asked. “You were fighting the onslaught of malaria. You were delirious at the best of times. How could I come to you and tell you what I was planning to do?”
“I understand that, believe me, but you wrote, and I quote: “please don’t follow me.” How could you expect me to abide by that plea? You knew very well I would do exactly the opposite.” He smiled. “You did, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I did,” Talya mumbled, lowering her eyes. She had to admit it. She had lured Hassan into following her, and she was pleased to have done so.
As if reading her thoughts, Hassan said, “And, to top it off, you seemed to be delighted with the results. I’m here aren’t I?”
Questions were racing through Talya’s mind: How could I feel the way I do about him? What is happening to me?
He looked down at her. “And now, would you promise me never to do the gallivanting alone anymore?”
“I will, or is it I won’t? I promise.”
“Either will do, as long as you never do it again.” They both laughed.
A knock at the door brought them out of their little bantering. Talya went to open it. Standing on the threshold, Pierre and John looked embarrassed. She invited them in.
“Is it time for dinner already? I thought you were going to ring me.”
As they walked in, they saw Hassan. He was standing by the window.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a visitor…,” Pierre said.
“Don’t worry, this is a friend. He’s my solicitor.” Turning to him, Talya called, “Maitre Sangor…?” Hassan turned and walked toward the two men.
“May I introduce Pierre Masson, and John, whose last name I don’t know; the two people who brought me to Dakar.”
“Gentlemen, I’m pleased to meet you,” Hassan replied, extending a hand, “I was glad to hear you’d rescued Madame Kartz from Sabodala and brought her to her intended destination.” The men shook hands.
Pierre smiled. “But it wasn’t all our doing actually. I didn’t like the way we had dropped her off and left her to go to the mine without a proper escort. And it’s actually Monsieur Hjamal who told me to get a vehicle and get her back from the mine site.”
“Did he give you any reason for asking to bring Madame Kartz back from the mine?” Hassan asked.
“No, he only sounded surprised that Monsieur Rasheed didn’t come to meet her when we landed. He said he was going to find out where he was.”
“You mean he doesn’t know where Monsieur Rasheed is? I find that hard to believe,” Talya said. She then extended an arm toward the living room. “But let’s not stand here. Come in and have a seat….”
“Thank you,” John said, speaking for the first time since entering the room.
They sat opposite Hassan and Talya.
“Would you like a drink?” She noticed they looked quizzically at the four nearly empty glasses on the table.
“No-no, Madame Kartz, we’re fine. Thank you.”
“Well, tell us what’s happening then. Have you been able to get in touch with your company and what did your boss have to say?”
Pierre began, hesitating, “It’s a complicated situation for us. Our contract runs out in three weeks’ time. Monsieur Hjamal owes us some money, or I should say he owes the company. So, legally we could stop providing air services as of tonight.”
“But... There must be a but?”
“Oh, yes, there is a but, Madame Kartz. Although we followed Monsieur Hjamal’s instructions, we should have left you at the mine site….”
“But you called him…,” Talya cut in. “And he’s the one who told you to bring me back…?”
“Yes, he did. But now our boss doesn’t want to continue working for him.”
“So…, I don’t see the problem…,” Hassan said.
“But, Maitre, we accepted to follow his instructions even after we knew he was a suspect in a murder case—”
“And that could be construed as you two—and your company—being accessory after the fact or even conspiring in a planned abduction.”
“Yes, Maitre, that’s exactly what our boss said.”
“Alright then…, let me ask you this: when did Madame Kartz tell you Monsieur Hjamal was involved in a murder case? Was it before or after you were at the mine site?”
John and Pierre looked at each other. “It was after we took off from Kedougou,” Pierre replied.
“Well then, you have nothing to worry about. You had no knowledge of Monsieur Hjamal’s involvement before the aborted abduction happened. No one could accuse you or your company of any wrong doing at this juncture.”
The pilot and navigator appeared quite relieved now. “I should think our attorney would see things the same way you do, Maitre, but our boss will only be happy when the money owed to the company, is paid in full.”
“Of course, that’s what you’d expect from any business man. But you need to tell your boss he’ll never see any money, unless he fights for it. Regrettably, it seems to be the way Monsieur Hjamal operates.”
“Yes, I’ve no doubt of it,” Pierre rejoined. “When I talked to Monsieur Hjamal this afternoon, he said he wouldn’t pay a cent of the money owed unless we take him to Paris next week, supposedly to meet with his banker. He’s even threatened to take us to court.” Pierre nodded almost imperceptibly. “Can I ask you to do us a favour, Maitre?”
“Sure, anything. Since you brought Madame Kartz to safety, how could I refuse?”
“Well, if you could, would you come to my room and make the call with us. I think Jack—that’s our boss—needs to hear all this from you. We’re only two pilots and we don’t usually get involved with such things.”
“Of course, I’ll be glad to do it.”
“Madame Kartz, I’m sorry … we’re sorry,” John began to say.
“Please don’t be,” Talya said, waving a dismissive hand.

65
Not five minutes had elapsed since Hassan and the two pilots had left when Talya heard the expected knock, more like a loud banging. The man is in no mood to be kept waiting. However, Talya let him brew for a few seconds. Standing in the passage, she could hear her guest growling and muttering to someone beside him, probably his acolyte. When she decided they had lingered long enough in the hotel corridor, Talya flung the door wide open.
“You remember us, don’t you? Hjamal said by way of greetings. “May we come in?”
“Please do, gentlemen, I was expecting you.”
Monsieur Ahmed Hjamal was dressed in a powder blue ‘grand-bou-bou’ and matching mishlah, embroidered around the neckline, and sleeves trimmed in the same way—the traditional West African Muslim gown worn on prayer day. He must have gone to the mosque and pray. For what, I wonder. His face was drawn while the furrowed scars on his cheek deepened the tiredness in his eyes. None of the charm or the timidity Talya had seen in Vancouver remained in the man’s attitude today, only aggressiveness.
Abdul Rasheed, in his thousand-dollar suit, was at his Master’s heels. The dog’s body is here to wag the tail of the donkey. His face was sweating. He looked uncomfortable.
They marched in and sat on the living room sofa. Talya sat in the chair opposite, closest to Hjamal. They, too, glanced at the glasses on the table, probably curious about the identity of Talya’s previous visitors. Neither man remarked on them.
Hjamal didn’t waste any time with the usual courtesies. Strictly speaking, and had Talya been a Muslim woman, she could have thrown them out for deliberately abusing the privilege of her hospitality without a grateful word.
Ahmed Hjamal began, “Madame Kartz, we are quite displeased.” We are not amused said Queen Victoria. “We had invited you in good faith. We wanted you to visit the mine site…”
“Which I did, Monsieur Hjamal, which I did.”
“Yes, you did, and in fact I was surprised to hear that you had to visit the site alone.” He brushed a meaningful glance by Rasheed’s face. The latter shook his head slowly.
“No matter now, Monsieur Hjamal, and I must admit my little tour was quite instructive.” Talya saw Rasheed’s mouth drop open. And you, my friend, are not going to find out what I saw—not yet anyway. “In any case, I don’t wish to sound ungrateful, but your invitation was for me to come to Dakar, not to visit the mine site. So, you invited me to meet with you in Dakar and this is where I am.”
Rasheed opened his mouth, “As Monsieur Hjamal said; we had other plans in mind—”
“I bet you did,” Talya snapped.
Hjamal glared at Talya and gestured to Rasheed to shut his mouth. The dog heeled.
“I’ve got no time for your plans, Monsieur Rasheed.” Talya shrugged and turned to Hjamal. “I suggest we get on with the business at hand. You, Monsieur Hjamal, have come to Vancouver asking for my company’s assistance, which was repeatedly denied…”
“Did you say ‘repeatedly denied’?” Hjamal cut-in. “I believe we met only once, and at that time Monsieur Flaubert told me that Carmine could examine the possibilities of reaching an agreement. I have no recollection of being told any different by anyone at any time.”
“Then, let me shed some light on that point,” Talya said. “When you left Vancouver, Monsieur Rasheed phoned me on numerous occasions. He pleaded with me to assist you in your mining project. As it happened, some weeks ago, I decided to go to Mali to review a business arrangement my company had made with Monsieur Savoi. While I had to stop in Dakar on my way to Bamako, I thought it appropriate at the time to come and see you. Monsieur Rasheed should be able to fill you in with the details.”
“Please pardon my ignorance, Madame Kartz, but I had no knowledge of this being the case.” Hjamal was visibly unaware of Rasheed’s invitation for Talya to meet with him in Dakar.
“Well, now you know. Perhaps you should also ask Monsieur Rasheed what he was doing in Bamako, driving Madame McLean’s car, and threatening repercussions against our Malian partners”—Hjamal’s face now betrayed total surprise—“if I were not to help you (and him) in your proposed endeavours. You must have known about that trip since you’ve said he informed you of my intended visit when you phoned me to make the arrangements for this weekend.”
“Here again, I’ll have to plead ignorance, Madame Kartz. I knew Abdul was going to Bamako but I had no idea he’d taken Madame McLean’s car, or that he proffered some sort of threat.”
The man, whom they were speaking of, took his handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face. He was having a hard time with this whole discussion.
“It’s been obvious from the beginning, Monsieur Hjamal, that you’ve tried to force the issue, and you’ve shown no flexibility in pursuing this matter. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way.”
“I must apologize, and I repeat, Madame Kartz, I didn’t know any of this was happening,” Hjamal uttered.
“I am a woman, but I’m not stupid, Monsieur Hjamal. From all that has occurred between the time Monsieur Savoi departed Bamako and the time I was informed of Mr. Gillman’s death, I could easily deduce what happened—and so could you, sir.”
Talya took a deep breath, stood up and went to the terrace door. She looked over her shoulder at the two men. Hjamal was about to open his mouth.
Talya cut him off before he even began speaking. “Now, you tell me I’m wrong. You tell me, you don’t know where Monsieur Savoi and Madame McLean are. If you say you do not know, I will do you the courtesy to taking you at your word.” She turned to face them and crossed her arms over her chest, resting her shoulders against the windowpane.
Hjamal seemed taken aback and undecided as to which question to ask first. He was staring at Rasheed but neither man made any comments.
“Perhaps the authorities would see fit to investigate some of your actions at this time, Monsieur Hjamal, because, no man, even you, can abuse of his authority against just anyone, especially not against strangers on your soil.” Talya then returned to her chair and watched for their reactions.
The silence was ominous. Both men were sitting on the edge of the sofa. Rasheed was getting grey with rage. Had he been a wolf instead of a mere dog, he would have bitten Talya’s face off.
Talya ploughed ahead. “I have a hard time believing anything you say, Monsieur Hjamal, because of the circumstantial evidence, which is piling up against you. The disappearance of my business partners, for one thing, the murder of Mr. Gillman and even my unplanned stop-over at the mine-site this morning—they all amount to my distrusting your word. However, I will give you the benefit of the doubt, since you seem genuinely ignorant of several facts.”
Rasheed was about to blurt out something when the strident ringing of the phone interrupted him. Talya literally jumped out of her seat to answer it.
“Madame Kartz speaking.”
“Talya, Hassan here. Are you ready to come down for dinner?”
“No, not quite, I have a couple of visitors with me at present. Perhaps I could join you later.”
“Who is it? Can you tell me?”
“Just business acquaintances. It won’t take long. I could be at the restaurant in ten minutes.”
“Just answer me yes or no. Is Hjamal with you?” Hassan asked.
“Yes, that’s right. I’ll be down in a little while. Just save a seat for me.”
“Do you want me to come in?”
“No, thank you, I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Talya—”
“No. Don’t bother. I’ll be down shortly,” and she hung up. Talya didn’t want Hassan intervening at this juncture. This was a delicate situation—one she wanted to handle alone.
In the meantime, Hjamal had been gaping at Talya while Rasheed had walked out to the terrace. Perhaps he was admiring the scenery. Talya was hoping he wasn’t going to jump. Her eyes went back to Ahmed Hjamal. She didn’t want to be distracted by the circus dog any longer.
“I apologize for the interruption, but I’m expected for dinner in ten minutes, as you’ve heard. So, let’s run over the main points of this meeting once more. First, you, Monsieur Hjamal, were about to tell me whether you knew the whereabouts of both Monsieur Savoi and Madame McLean, and I was going to accept your answer. Therefore, I’m asking you again: do you know where my business associates are?”
The man sitting across from Talya looked trapped. He was not taking any of this very well. He seemed all-together amazed and confused.
“I’m above all, a man of honour, Madame Kartz. I will not lie when I tell you that I only know Monsieur Savoi came to Dakar, of his own free will, I might add, and Madame McLean joined him a week or so afterward. Anything, which may have happened after that, is beyond my knowledge. As far as I am concerned, we discussed business when Monsieur Savoi called me when he arrived in Dakar and that’s all…”
They heard a knock at the front door. Talya excused herself briefly and went to open it. Without a word, Hassan waltzed in. Debonair, as Talya had never seen him before. Hjamal rose. Talya was fuming. I do not want him here!
“Oh. I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t know you had company.”
“Maitre Sangor! How nice of you to drop in, please, come in.” If not in the words as Talya uttered them, her sarcasm must have been audible, nevertheless. “This is Monsieur Ahmed Hjamal, and I believe you’ve met the gentleman on the balcony?”
“Maitre Hassan Sangor, Monsieur Hjamal,” Hassan said, extending a hand to the visitor. “I’m delighted to meet you at last. I’ve heard a great deal about you. I must say you have a reputation that precedes you a long way.” They shook hands.
“Maitre,” Hjamal replied, nodding his greeting but looking positively displeased at the intrusion.
Rasheed, who had come back into the room, looked at Hassan. He seemed genuinely surprised at his coming onto the scene.
“Maitre Sangor? I thought you were still in Bamako?” He extended a hand.
Ignoring the gesture, Hassan looked at the man with disdain and turned to Talya. “Madame Kartz, I think our friends are waiting for us downstairs. Perhaps we should go. We could all meet again tomorrow and deal with this matter then?”
Although Talya was angry with Hassan’s overbearing attitude—taking the lead in the now aborted meeting—she did not want to add fuel to fire. She smiled. Before Hjamal could reply, she made her excuses for the interruption. “Again, I thank you for giving me the opportunity to meet with you, Monsieur Hjamal, but, as you can see, my presence is required elsewhere this evening.”
“I have brought you down here at great expense, Madame Kartz…” and you are determined not to pay for it. “I expected you to do me the courtesy of spending time with me.”
“Tomorrow is another day,” Talya retorted, “and, may I remind you; you were not expecting me in Dakar until then anyway. You’ve said it yourself: I was to visit the mine site today, so, you may as well pretend I’m at the mine enjoying your imposed hospitality. Now, I’m going to dinner.”
That was a very clear indication on her part that Talya’s two guests had outstayed their welcome. Etiquette demanded that they leave without another word. They bowed slightly, as it is customary, and walked toward the door.
When in the passage, Hjamal stopped and turned to Talya. “We shall be back in the morning. And…”
“That’ll be fine, but please don’t make it too early. I like to sleep in on Sundays.” She turned her back to them as Hassan closed the door on the two men.
Coming back to the living room, Hassan blurted, “Why didn’t you ask me to stay with you since you knew they were coming?”
“Because, I did not want you here!” Talya was put out. She had not obtained all of the information she sought from Hjamal and Rasheed, because of Hassan intruding on their discussion, when she had specifically told him that his presence was not required. “Besides, I wanted them to think they had the upper hand and they were at liberty to attack me in any way they saw fit. As it is, I found out from Hjamal that Rasheed is an eel hidden under rocks.”
“What do you mean? What have you found out?”
“I’ll tell you later, when I have time to think about it.”
“I wish you’d tell me... Now.”
“No, Hassan, not now. And I’d like to make something very clear right now...” He looked down at her. “When I say, I do not want you to intrude, I mean it!”
“But, Talya, he’s a gangster of the worst kind…,” Hassan said, a mixture of embarrassment and ruefulness painted on his face.
“I don’t care if he is a murderer or a blameless man—and you’re a bit too quick to judge the guy—but when I say NO, I mean it, Hassan!”
He hung his head in reply.
“Okay, never mind all that now, let’s go to dinner before the guys eat the place clean.” Talya smiled. Hassan raised his eyes to her. “Come on let’s go…,” she insisted, but since he didn’t seem ready to move, she opened the door and marched out of the apartment.
66
The hotel restaurant was more informal than Talya had expected. It reminded her of an Italian Trattoria. A huge conical copper hood descended from the ceiling to almost head level over a semi-circular charcoal grill of imposing dimension, which occupied one corner of this vast room a third of the way into it. The Chef (in full gear—hat and all) stood in front of the grill watching the fish, meat and poultry frying gently on the iron grid. At the far end of the room, there was an open kitchen behind a glass counter where cooks and sous-chefs were busy applying the finishing touches to the dishes they had prepared.
As they entered, the restaurant being sparsely occupied—they were too early for the dinner rush—the maitre d’ led them to a table close to the terrace windows, and away from the sectioned seating nearer the grill. A low brick wall separated each of these, on top of which terracotta pot plants and other ornaments were cutting the view from the guests sitting on either side. Crystal centrepieces of fresh cut flowers adorned every table. Elaborately folded napkins on place mats added yet another touch of colours to each setting.
They sat and continued to take in the atmosphere. Sunlight regulated the light from the spotlights overhead. The lesser the light penetrating from the terrace, the brighter they shone. The only non-Italian touches to the décor were the Persian carpets, which hung on each of the white stucco walls.
Apart from John and Pierre, who were ‘regulars’, the rest of the party found it exceptional to find such a place in Africa. Pierre reminded them that after all, they were in Dakar—the Marseille of West Africa.
They ordered a couple plates of appetizers to share among the six of them, but when it came to the main course, they each had different ideas. Pierre, John and Talya shared a bottle of French Beaujolais. They had cheese and fruit for dessert. It was a perfect meal in great company.
Throughout the evening, they didn’t want to broach the subject of their troubles. They probably needed time-off anyway. Subconsciously, they averted talking of what brought them together that night. They each told stories, which recalled some of their past adventures. Samir’s younger days on camel back, travelling through the Sahara and the Sahel to such places as Timbuktu, were fascinating. Talya’s father had brought her there once and she recalled how beautiful, serene and unbelievable it was. The city used to be a celebrated Mecca for the Muslim traveller. Today, Timbuktu is the dreamlike place found at the end of a trail that leads nowhere, where everyone goes when intending to go to the end of the earth. Its ancestral mosque and ancient guesthouses were built with blocks made out of sand and mud from the Niger flowing a few miles away. Like sandcastles, these fragile structures stand proud in the middle of the desert calling the nomad to rest and pray. Every year, however, the wrath of Allah brings fierce sandstorms to the area, and every year the tireless faithful Muslim devotedly rebuilds these fairytale-like edifices damaged at the whim of his God.
Mohammed called Talya back from her past wanderings when she heard him say, “Talya, I have a suggestion to make. We have six rooms available between us. Because Hjamal will assume you’ll be spending the night in the suite where he found you this afternoon, I think it’d be a good idea for you to take my room. The rest of us could exchange keys so we’re not where Hjamal would think we are.”
“That’s a great idea,” Talya agreed, “and I think we should all go up separately. We don’t know who’ll be watching.”
Hassan turned to Samir with an impish look in his eyes. “You should take the suite. No one knows you, my friend. They would have a heck of a surprise if they found you in Talya’s bed.” They laughed out loud, but Talya felt the tension creeping back among them.
“Such a luxury for this humble nomad,” Samir said genially. Humble? Something told Talya that this man had known luxury. “I couldn’t possibly be more grateful.”
“You should try the spa and tell us all about it in the morning,” John added.
They chatted for a few more minutes.
“I think it’s about time we get started,” Mohammed then said, trying to control a yawn or two. He called the waiter to bring the checks and after all the signing was done, they got up and went their separate ways as agreed.
Samir disappeared in the garden through the terrace doors. Later, he would go to his ‘refurbished tent’ as he now called Talya’s suite. He is a Character.
John and Pierre went out the front door apparently to have a talk and a smoke.
Hassan and Mohammed went to the Terrarium, sat in one of the sofas in front of the baobab and waited for Talya to make her way to her newly assigned quarters. She was now located on the fifth floor, beside John and Pierre. Hassan and Mohammed occupied the pilot’s rooms.
Hassan came to Talya’s door (unnoticed she hoped) to say ‘good-night’—over a nightcap. She didn’t want to let him in. She wanted to be left alone.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. I need to be alone, do you mind?” Talya said with some impatience in her voice.
His next query came out timidly. “Will you be in your room in the morning this time?”
“You’ve just got to come and see for yourself, won’t you?” She was smiling.
“You’re impossible. You’ll drive me insane.”
“My dear Hassan, unless I’m abducted or thrown out during the night, you’ll find me where I’m supposed to be tomorrow.”
67
That night Rasheed placed a call to Paris. He knew the Kartz woman had been at the mine. He had not been able to be there to get her prying eyes and gorgeous body out of the way, and now she had started to ask the wrong questions. She would have to be stopped.
“Allo!” the voice said.
“It’s me, sir—”
“I hope you have a good reason for calling me at this hour, Monsieur Rasheed, otherwise I shall hang up—”
“Please don’t…, sir. And yes, I have a good reason to call you. Madame Kartz has been sniffing around the mine site—”
“Well, Monsieur Rasheed, wasn’t that to be expected? After all the turmoil you caused and the suspicion you’ve drawn on your person—to me this is no surprise at all.”
“What do you suggest I do now?”
“When I wanted to assist you in diverting the first shipment, you told me that you did not want my assistance, so I suggest that you resort to your own device at present, too. I don’t want to meddle in your affairs, Monsieur Rasheed. I’ll defer all decisions to my superiors in Washington from now on…. Bonsoir, Monsieur Rasheed….” And the man hung up in Rasheed’s ear. Furious, the latter slammed the receiver down.
68
There was a loud ring. She woke up with a start. “Good gracious, leave me alone people …” Talya grumbled, opening her eyes and staring at the clock: 7:00AM. She lifted her head from the pillow and realized that she was in someone else’s room. Then she remembered the evening before—they had exchanged keys. The ringing became more insistent. Her heart pounding fiercely with renewed apprehension, she picked-up the receiver.
“Madame Kartz? Samir here, good morning, how are you?” I told him last night to use my first name—why the formality?
“Top of the morning to you, Samir. How are you? Did you sleep well?”
“No, not really,” he replied hesitantly, the joviality of the previous night gone. “I’ve got the Dutchman beside me.” The Dutchman, finally. “He came over to the suite because the clerk told him at the desk that it was where you were. Shall I put him on the line?”
“Yes, please, I want to talk to him.”
We were going to get some straight answers (?).
“Johan. You can’t imagine how relieved I’m to hear you’re here, safe and sound.”
“Yeah, well, it hasn’t been without some effort on my part, I can tell you. We need to talk. Would you be able to meet me soon?”
“Let me take a shower, and I’ll meet you in the restaurant for breakfast. It’s a public place. There won’t be any risk of being disturbed.”
“No offence to the Samir fellow here but, Talya, I want to see you alone. Do you think that’s possible?”
“Very much so. Let me talk to Samir, please. I’ll meet you in a half an hour, if that’s all right?”
“Perfect. Here’s Samir.”
“Samir. I’m going to meet the Dutchman at the restaurant in a while. We want to be left alone. Would you please tell the others what’s happening? And, if Pierre and John have to leave, would you wish them well for me?”
“Yes, of course. Tell me, when can we join you?”
“Give me time to sort things out. If you are in the restaurant, I’ll come to your table when our tête-à-tête is over.”
“Very well. We’ll see you in a while then. We’ll be watching. We won’t let you skip town unnoticed this time.” Talya heard the gentle chuckle as he rang off. Putting down the receiver, she smiled.
She got out of bed, had a shower and put on her only change of clothes. She packed yesterday’s T-shirt, pants, etc., in the hotel laundry bag. They did the washing even on Sundays in this place. If there was a tomorrow, Talya needed to have fresh clothes to face it.
As she reached the restaurant with the morning crowd, she was amazed at the change, the striking difference between the morning and the night before. Everything looked the same and yet everything was different.
White place mats on every table had replaced the coloured ones while simply folded white napkins rested on bright hand-painted plates facing matching cups and saucers. Bowls of fruit replaced the flower arrangements on each of the tables.
The grill was abuzz with eggs, sausages, bacon, pancakes, cooking under the watchful eye of two young chefs. Even crepes were sizzling happily on a hot plate set to one side.
There were huge halved calabash bowls of cereals aligned on the kitchen counter. Beside them, jugs and jugs of juice stood at the ready for the patrons to taste the tantalizing flavours of their colourful content.
Enormous breadbaskets, filled with all the croissants, buns, rolls, brown and white loaves and French baguettes you may want to eat, lay on a table of their own in one corner.
They had worn black tuxedos last evening, but this morning the waiters were dressed with red jackets and white trousers. They reminded Talya of Grenadiers, or tin soldiers of times past.
She stood at the entrance for a moment. The freshness brought to the place overnight taking her aback. She looked around and found Johan, his nose in a cup of coffee.
This great big, burly man had the heart of a lion, and a mind as sharp as any perfectly tuned instrument. He had thinning white hair and a clean-shaven face, his complexion tanned as leather. The dimness of age showed in his light blue eyes. His smile had remained bright and happy over the years Talya had known him. He was a garrulous man, always ready to tell a joke and have a good laugh about life’s troubles. Today however, he looked strained.
“You look very pensive, Johan?”
“Talya,” the man exclaimed with a start, suddenly realizing that Talya was standing across the table from him. He had not heard or seen her come in. He stood up, went round the table and took Talya in his arms to kiss her on both cheeks.
They sat down. Talya ordered a coffee and croissants. After a big meal the night before, she didn’t need much of anything. The waiter went away and she looked at the man facing her. There was an imperceptible change in him.
“It’s darn good to see you. How have you been?” Johan glanced across, an expectant look in his eyes. What was that all about?
“I’m fine. It’s been too long, my friend.”
He had ordered eggs, bacon, pancakes—the lot. The waiter brought her breakfast and Johan’s all at once. The table looked as if they were prepared to have a feast rather than breakfast.
Once they had consumed some of what was on their plates, Talya decided it was time to tackle it. “Okay, Johan, let’s hear it. What can you tell me? What’s going on here?”
“I really don’t know where to begin. It’s been a mess from the word go.”
“Perhaps, I can ask you some questions and you can take the lead from there?”
“Okay. Fire. I’m ready.” He pushed his chair back a little and crossed his legs.
“First I’d like to know how long you have been working for Hjamal.”
“Let me see now… It all started eighteen months ago. Hjamal came to the Denver Mining Show. I was there, too, and somebody told me about this African man, who was trying to become a miner over night. Of course, I was curious. I met with the man. He introduced himself as ‘Mr. Ahmed’. It’s only much later I was told of his real name.” Talya was about to open her mouth, but thought better of it. She let him go on. “He said he was looking to buy some machinery to build a gold-processing plant on his land. Right away he invited me to visit the site here, in Senegal, and he’d have hired me on the spot…”
“And did you accept?”
“No, you know me, Talya. Unless this guy was genuine, I wasn’t going anywhere near the fellow or his mine. I tried to check on him. I called a few friends in Mali and Burkina. They told me the same story. Apparently, they’d heard of a fellow who was trying to build a mining plant near the Guinean border. The word was the man had bags of money and he was squatting on the land trying to make it happen.”
“I bet the money part tempted you?”
“That it did. But the challenge, I guess, was what got me going in the end.”
“So when did you arrive in Sabodala?”
“Not right away, but soon enough, I tell you. A couple of weeks after the show, Hjamal sent me a return ticket to Dakar. I arrived here in January of last year, but as soon as I reached the site, a few days later, I knew I couldn’t handle the job alone. I told Hjamal he had to find a partner in the industry to help him. He was having none of it.” Johan shook his head and drank some coffee.
“He wanted me to hire people, as many as were needed, to build the plant himself. Then I remembered your James Flaubert had been looking into buying some mining interests in West Africa for some time. I phoned him and told him what I was doing. He wasn’t keen on getting involved into a mining project at that stage. Anyway, I had a feeling James wouldn’t buy into anything that was supposedly owned and controlled by this character. So, we just kept in touch.”
“Hold it a minute. Did you say Hjamal ‘supposedly’ owns the mine—do you know for a fact that he does?”
“No, Talya, I don’t think Hjamal owns the mine outright. I say that because he was always reluctant to introduce himself as the owner of Sabodala. Remember, we only knew him as Mr. Ahmed. Anyway, he’d said it to me more than once: “Don’t tell anybody I own Sabodala until all the paperwork is in order”.”
“Did you raise any interest from anyone else in the industry?”
“No I didn’t. Most of the guys I know, wouldn’t go near the place either because they’re busy someplace else, or because they’d heard Hjamal couldn’t share interests in something he didn’t own. I guess what got me going in the end was that I always hoped Hjamal would get his paperwork in order, and we’d then be able to make a deal with some outfit in Europe or in the States.”
“When did you start working then?”
“Oh it must’ve been early February, when we started ordering material, equipment and engaged local manpower. You know … everything went well at first. The problems only started when Hjamal decided to buy the ball-mill he’d seen at the Denver Exhibition. I knew what he was talking about.” Johan paused long enough to move his chair back to the table and drink another gulp of coffee.
Cup still in hand, he continued, “I also knew it was near impossible to have the mill shipped and fitted without having an engineer design the plant from the ground up. Sure, I’d designed a rough draft, but nothing like what we’d needed. Again, Hjamal didn’t want to hear any of it. He seemed obsessed. He thought people were spying on him.”
Johan poured himself another cup of coffee and went on. His caffeine tolerance must be way up there. Meanwhile, Talya was playing with the breadcrumbs on her plate not looking at her friend. Something bothered her, what was it? Johan was saying…
“…As you know, Talya, I’m a trouble-shooter and maybe an expert in a few things, but I’m not an engineer. So, I told him to purchase the mill he wanted, but to ask for a fitter to accompany the equipment. I remember we had quite a row about the whole thing but he finally saw it my way.” This time Johan shifted position in his chair. He looked uncomfortable. These dining room seats were probably too stiff for him.
“A month later, Richard Gillman arrived, poor guy.” Johan shook his head and smiled. He was most likely remembering the first time he laid eyes on Richard. “He’d never been to Africa. He was sick the day he arrived on site. He could hardly stand up. After a while, though, he got used to the conditions and he was back on his feet by the time the mill reached Sabodala.” Johan stopped and looked at the food on the table. “Talking about food, do you want anything else? I see you haven’t eaten much of your breakfast.”
“No I don’t. Thanks. I had a late dinner last night and this was enough to last me until lunchtime, at least. But please go on.”
“Yes, well, we got to work and fitted the mill to the line, not without some problems mind you. Once we had the mill installed—without the door that was still missing—we went on to work on the crusher. It was about then that the living conditions went from bad to worse.” Talya lifted her head and watched him. There was something in his averting her eyes that showed avoidance, or was it fear?
“Tell me something, did Richard try to leave the site at anytime when you were working together?”
“Well yes, he did leave a couple times as a matter of fact, but Richard told me Hjamal had taken his passport and he wouldn’t get it back until the job was done. If he wanted to leave the country that would have been near impossible.”
“Did he say he wanted to go home?” Talya felt sad, reading a phrase from Richard’s letter in her mind’s eye: “With a badly injured foot possibly broken, caused by fruitless escape attempts...”
“Yes, he did, but anyone would after they’d had a taste of Sabodala.” Johan laughed. Talya couldn’t. His laughter was leaving a bitter after-taste in her mouth.
“Sorry, go on,” she said instead.
“Well, two weeks later, I had to come back to Dakar to get some parts and equipment I’d ordered months before. I also had some nitro-glycerine in one of the container that’d arrived at port, and I wanted to see to the transfer of that particular item myself. I was going to use the nitro to dig the first benches of the open pit mine to be excavated beside the plant. But, by now I’m sure you’ve been told that we ordered a little more than necessary?”
“A little more, Johan!” Talya blurted. “With what you’ve ordered, you could have carved a whole new Kimberley mine while you were at it.”
“Yes, I know, but that wasn’t entirely my doing, you know. If you tell Hjamal to buy five pounds of flour, he’ll come back with fifteen, ‘it’ll be for a rainy day’, he’d say.” Johan’s jeering and offhand attitude started to bug Talya.
She tried another tack. “Sorry to interrupt again, but did you see James when you were at the site?”
“Yes, very briefly though. Jean-Claude brought James to the mine in May of last year. They only stayed a couple of hours. I told Jean-Claude about some of the troubles we’re having. James, he tried to talk to Richard. And I say tried because the workers were always crowding any visitor that came over and they’d be reporting to Hjamal any chance they’d got.”
“Another question; did you (or Richard) mention Minorex’s name?”
“No, I don’t think either of us did. I did mention to James the man was mad, though—that, I remember.” Johan chuckled again, and Talya was getting upset.
“Come to think of it, James was more interested in Richard’s welfare than anything else.”
“Okay, please go on.” Talya wanted to get to the end of the tale. She felt uncomfortable and she doubted the chair had anything to do with it.
“Well, there isn’t much else to tell, only that one night after we’d completed most of the work on the crusher, I heard they were taking Richard away. After that, I started clearing some of the vegetation on the hillside with an old dozer that Hjamal bought second hand, until, months later, he told me he was going to Canada to find some technical assistance to complete and run the plant. The rest you know.”
“Yes, well, there is another thing I need to know. Have you seen anyone else at the site besides Richard and the workers?”
“No. There was no one visible, but before I left, I noticed one of the huts had been kept under guard for the past month or so. Maybe they were detaining some people in there, although I couldn’t say for sure.”
“One last thing. Have you met Hjamal’s flunky, Abdul Rasheed?”
“Yes, but mostly in the Dakar office. He’d seldom set foot at the site and he’d never stayed for long.”
“That clears up a few things.” There was something wrong with this story—too many pieces were missing. In fact, Johan didn’t add anything to what Talya already knew.
Let’s see how he answers this one then, “When did you see Richard last?”
“Let me see now… Last year in July, I think. That’s when the rain started and we were spending a lot of time doing nothing, we couldn’t—”
“Are you telling me you haven’t laid eyes on Richard since July last year? That’s incredible.”
“Talya. I’m not in the habit of lying!” He glared at Talya offended. Yet, he is still lying—I am sure of it.
“Hold on, I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. What I meant was, if July is the last time you saw Richard and he was found dead on Yoff’s beach a week ago, there is a huge gap there. What happened to him during that time, that’s what I want to know? He must’ve come back to Senegal. So where was he? His passport doesn’t tell us much except that he traveled back to Mauritania and to Mali but not to Senegal. That was in December last year—nothing after that.”
“I see what you mean.” His offended stare receded into a thin smile. “He must have worked for Hjamal in Dakar or somewhere else, I don’t know?” Johan shrugged. “But, he hasn’t been back at Sabodala, I’m quite sure of it. Unless… It was him they were keeping in that hut.” He was questioning his own statement now.
Talya felt Johan was giving her the run-around somehow, or worse… But why? She moved onto another topic. “Have you been asked to speak to the police yet?”
“No, not yet. They’re slow in getting an investigation started in this part of the world, as I’m sure you’ve noticed?”
“Are you still working for Hjamal right now?”
“No, I left the site a couple weeks ago. I’d finished what he wanted me to do. And, I was going home via Zimbabwe, when I heard of the troubles here.”
“Via Zimbabwe? My God! That’s quite a round about way to going back to Holland.”
“Well you know me, Talya.” He smiled. “I have to take opportunities when they knock.”
“One last question, how did you know where to find me?”
“Oh, that was fairly simple, I phoned the Grand Hotel in Bamako yesterday and they told me you were in Dakar; that meant the Meridien, or the Terranga. I chose the Meridien because this is where I’ve been staying anyway.”
“Quite. Let’s go back to our little story, shall we? I have something to show you. I brought it with me, just in case.” Talya pulled Richard’s letter out of her purse and handed it to him. He began reading. While he was concentrating on Richard’s lengthy narrative, Talya had time to look around for her five ‘accomplices’. They were there all right, sitting not too far from their table, but their presence was somewhat hidden from view by some pot plants. She smiled at them, but didn’t make a move.
When Johan had finished with his reading, he cussed loudly in Dutch. Everyone, including Talya’s companions, turned to see where the swearing was coming from. She was embarrassed.
“My God, no wonder Hjamal and Rasheed were in such a state when I came back,” he said more quietly. “I couldn’t understand all of what they’d said but they were not happy.”
“I bet they weren’t. Now let me tell you what brought me here. When Hjamal came to Vancouver, James must have made the connection between him and Sabodala. (How could he not since you had told him about it?) Although James had never met Hjamal at the site and he didn’t know his real name, and since there are no other mines in the area, he must have put two and two together. What we didn’t know, however, was that Hjamal was in fact the President of Minorex. Later we discovered that a connection undoubtedly existed between Hjamal and our so-called partner in Bamako, Amadou Savoi. Savoi skipped town some weeks ago after embezzling our company to the tune of a half-a-million dollars.” Talya let that sink in for a moment.
Getting no reaction from Johan, she went on, “We assumed he came to Dakar then, and his niece, Rheza McLean, took the first flight out around the same time. She too came to Dakar presumably to find her uncle. We’d heard nothing from either of them until a few days ago when Rasheed came to Bamako threatening (not openly mind you) that both of them would come to harm if we didn’t invest into Hjamal’s venture.”
Johan had his nose in his cup of coffee again. He looked as if he was taking his brain for a run around these latest developments. The letter, and what Talya had just told him, must have provided him with more than fruit for thought. He looked perplexed.
“That’s more than I expected, Talya … and, who are the people at the table behind the flowerpots? I gathered they’re with you because I saw Samir come in with them. And I see the two Minorex pilots—Pierre and John, I know them also. They flew me down from the mine when I left Sabodala.”
Looking in Hassan’s direction, Talya nodded to him, and to Johan she said, “We’ll go over and join them now. They’ve helped me in more ways than one. Of the two you don’t know, the one with glasses is my attorney and the man sitting beside him is another of Rheza’s uncles. He’s also one of the PM’s counsellors in Mali.” Johan looked away. The presence of a government member seemed to concern him somehow.
They got up and went to the table where her five partners were waiting for them.
“Gentlemen, this is Johan Van Burren, known to everyone as the ‘Dutchman’. Johan, these are my friends and I will let them introduce themselves.”
They all shook hands, and sat down. They ordered a fresh pot of coffee and Talya began summarizing Johan’s story—the little of it there was.
69
There he was, Mr. Ahmed Hjamal. Briefcase in hand, he marched into the restaurant, followed by Monsieur Abdul Rasheed, of course. No one missed their grand entrance. Hjamal had the allure of one who wasn’t to be detracted from his objective. His stride was firm, purposeful and determined. It was saying to all and sundry: “Don’t you dare cross my path or you’ll pay the price.” He didn’t come to play games, neither did Talya. They both knew it.
Ahmed Hjamal was particularly well dressed this morning. In a grey suit, white shirt and silk tie, he looked all business. He had left the prayer garments at home for today’s meeting. Self-confidence and assurance were visible in his square jaw and tight lips. As he came closer, Talya could see his eyes still showed the anxiety and distrust she had seen yesterday.
Abdul Rasheed, on the other hand, walked in the shadow of his master. He wore a linen suit with a white turtleneck pullover. On anyone else, it would have been flattering. On him however, it was out of place. Dread and fear seemed to deepen the lines of his face. He was probably anxious about the outcome of the meeting. His glasses were fogging from the change in temperature between the hallway and the air-conditioned restaurant. Talya smiled inwardly. He looked like a circus clown making his entrance onto the ring.
They reached their table and stood over them like two vultures ready to descend on their preys. Talya was glad Pierre and John had already left. By now, they were on their way to Paris with their aircraft. They didn’t need to be subjected to more indignation at the hands of their former client.
“Madame Kartz, I’m here to talk to you,” Ahmed Hjamal said with arrogance and visible impatience.
Except for Talya, no one at the table looked up at the demanding guest. She got up and as courteously as she could manage, she proceeded with the introduction.
“Monsieur Hjamal, good morning. Let me introduce you to Monsieur Mohammed Fade, Counsellor to the Prime Minister of Mali, Captain Samir Shaykh Sahab, our pilot, and of course you know Mr. Van Burren, and Maitre Sangor whom you’ve met last night.”
Hassan got to his feet. “Monsieur Hjamal, Monsieur Rasheed, I’m pleased to seeing you again.”
“Thank you, Maitre,” Hjamal replied.
Rasheed ignored Hassan’s greeting and shrugged instead. Talya looked at her other companions waiting for them to acknowledge the men’s arrival. No one made a move. Proper greetings hadn’t come forth from the guests, so they didn’t feel obliged to respond.
“Madame Kartz, I’m not interested in your acquaintances, nor am I interested in my ex-employees.” Hjamal glared at Johan. The latter shook his head and smiled in reply, staring down at the cup of coffee in front of him. “I’m here at your request to have a business discussion with you, alone.”
“Monsieur Hjamal, as Madame Kartz’s attorney, let me inform you the lady will not have any discussion, business or otherwise, without the people you see around this table being present. Therefore, if you wish to speak to her, I suggest we adjourn to her suite presently.”
“I appreciate your concern, Maitre, but I don’t need nor do I want any of you anywhere near Madame Kartz during a discussion of a confidential nature.”
“Monsieur Hjamal!” Talya uttered, “If I decide my attorney should be present; that will be my choice and my choice only. I don’t particularly like your attitude. I’m the one who called the meeting. So, I’m the one who will run this show.” She could see Hjamal was seething. He didn’t appreciate being given orders, and obviously even more irritable to him, was that these directions came from a woman.
“We’re wasting time. Let’s go to your suite and have our chat.”
“You’re the one, who’s been wasting time, Monsieur Hjamal, but never mind…. Shall we?” Talya said, brushing a glance in the direction of her friends sitting at the table.
Samir stood up first. “Talya, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to the airport and see to the plane. I’ve got to get it ready for departure.” He shot a complicit wink at her. What is he up to?
“Of course, go ahead. But when you’re done maybe you should come back and have lunch with us?”
“No problem. I’ll be back in a couple of hours.” He bowed to everyone, and was gone.
Mohammed and Johan got up, and they all marched out of the restaurant. They went to the elevators; two of them stood with their doors wide open. Four of them took one, Hjamal and Rasheed the other. They arrived together on the sixth floor and went to the apartment without a word. Talya led the way into the living room and everyone chose its individual seat.
Hjamal sat in one corner of the sofa, putting his briefcase between his legs and his elbows on his knees. He stared at the floor.
Johan sat in the other corner, putting an elbow on the armrest. He crossed his legs and seemed ready for anything anyone would care to throw at him.
Mohammed picked the chair across from Johan and Talya took the other, opposite Hjamal.
Mohammed’s face showed severity and determination. His eyes were roving from one person to the other. Apparently, he was analyzing their behaviour before the meeting began, probably much in the same way he would before a political reunion.
Hassan came to sit on the armrest of Talya’s chair. He, too, rested his gaze on everyone in turn, seemingly appraising the situation.
Rasheed brought a stool from the bar, which he placed between the sofa and Mohammed’s chair. He sat his back turned to the terrace door. He looked ill at ease as usual.
When Talya first saw him in Bamako, he reminded her of a snake, hiding underbrush. Today however, he couldn’t hide. Perched on his seat, he was well in evidence.
Once everyone was settled, Talya decided it was time to tackle the reason for their meeting head on.
“Monsieur Hjamal, I’ll come straight to the point. As I’ve stated yesterday, there is no doubt in my mind that you’ve had a part to play in the disappearance of my associates and in the murder of Richard Gillman. I don’t want lengthy explanations of any sort. I want straight answers to several questions.” Rasheed started fidgeting on his high chair. “As I said last night, I’m prepared to hear the truth. So I’m asking you again: do you know where Monsieur Savoi and Madame McLean are at this moment?”
“I’ll repeat what I told you yesterday: I frankly don’t know, Madame Kartz.” He shook his head. “Abdul told me Monsieur Savoi was in Dakar. I expected to see him in my office to discuss a possible business arrangement, but he never showed up. As for Madame McLean, all I know is that she was in town. I’ve never met her.”
Hjamal’s arrogance had abated slightly, but that didn’t mean his guard was down. Johan moved from the sofa and went to sit at the bar. Knowing him as Talya did, she thought he probably wanted to sit where he could watch the little gathering in action rather than taking part.
“And you, Monsieur Rasheed, what is your answer? Do you know where my associates are?”
He took his glasses off and wiped them with his handkerchief. “Me? How should I know, I only did what I was told,” directing his reply to Hjamal.
“That’s what I thought,” Talya said. “Tell me then, how come you came to Bamako, proffering menaces to Maitre Sangor and myself, and stating you’d seen both of my colleagues?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve never threatened you or Maitre Sangor in any way. All I remember saying is that I met Monsieur Savoi and Madame McLean in Dakar. That’s all I’ve said.”
Hjamal’s attention was riveted on Rasheed. “Tell me, Abdul, you were gone several days last week and I learned that you’d used the plane. Where did you go?”
Rasheed was sweating profusely. He took his handkerchief out of his pocket again and dabbed his forehead. “As if you didn’t know. What’s the point in me telling you?” He was visibly frustrated at the pressuring questions.
“Because, I’m asking you. Where did you go?” Hjamal shouted.
“You know as well as I do I went to the mine site,” Rasheed said, expostulating.
Hjamal turned to Talya. “Let me tell you what I suspect happened.” He reclined against the back of the sofa, crossed his legs, and began with the story he wanted her to hear. “As you know I was in Vancouver weeks ago, asking for Carmine’s assistance in exploiting a mining site in Eastern Senegal. I hadn’t met James Flaubert until that time. He should have been aware of the relation that existed between Sabodala and me, although, he never said so when I met with him.” He looked at Talya fixedly. “But you know that, you were there. I never led on that I intended to claim ownership of Sabodala nor that I was in the process of founding Minorex.
“As for my relationship with Monsieur Savoi, I’d known about him for sometime. Charlatans have a reputation that precedes and follows them everywhere. So, when I came home I asked Abdul to get in touch with him to establish a common-accord between Minorex and Carmine through him. I had learned he had received money from Carmine and I became curious. But, you came on the scene.” He smiled.
Although she knew he was lying, suddenly Talya recalled their meeting in Vancouver vividly. The charm, the enticing attitude, the blatant egotism—it all came back.
“You scared Savoi out of his wits,” Hjamal went on. “When he arrived in Dakar, he phoned me. During our conversation, he revealed the money had been spent and he wanted to take refuge behind Minorex. He wanted me to say we had made a deal and invested Carmine’s funds into the mine and he was not to blame for the loss. How he could even think for one moment I would go for this scam, I don’t know. I may be many things, Madame Kartz, but gullible I’m not.” And how gullible do you think I am, Monsieur Hjamal? Talya said nothing. “In any case, I smelled a rat. I asked him to come to my office as soon as possible. He never showed up. So, I told Abdul to find him and to have him removed from circulation until I could contact you.”
“You see, you see,” Rasheed exploded, uttering the words with rage in his eyes, “you’ve said it. You wanted me to remove him. I did what I was told. I removed him all right—all the way to the mine. And I did the same with his stupid niece.”
In a flash and with superb agility, Mohammed rushed the fellow off his perch and slammed his fist into the clenched jaw. The stool went flying out through the opened terrace door, and before anyone realized what had happened, Rasheed was spread on the floor. Everyone was stunned. Hassan quickly pushed Mohammed away from his victim while Johan, who’d sprung off his stool, lifted Rasheed from the floor. Hassan took Mohammed away from the scene into the bedroom. Talya followed them. They sat the distraught man on the bed.
“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have done that,” he said, abashed. “But you know what Rheza means to me. This monster had no right to lay a hand on her.”
“No one is going to blame you for punching this dog,” Hassan said soothingly. “Allah will look upon you with all the forgiveness and understanding you deserve. Don’t worry. We’ll make Rasheed pay for what he did.”
Talya said, “You stay here for now, Mohammed, and we’ll handle this. Trust me,” and walked out of the room.
Of all the feelings Talya had experienced in her life, the one of disgust was perhaps the most virulent, and right then she was thoroughly disgusted with Abdul Rasheed. He didn’t deserve pity he deserved punishment. He was a criminal—Talya was convinced of it.
In the living room, she found him sitting on the sofa glasses in hand, mopping his face with his handkerchief, looking dishevelled and deeply offended. Johan was standing over him ready to punch the man a second time if he tried to move.
“Madame Kartz, I’ll file charges—”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind, Monsieur Rasheed,” she cut-in angrily, “and I suggest you go into the other room until we can sort this out.”
Following Talya’s suggestion, Johan grabbed Savoi by the lapels of his wrinkled jacket and practically threw him in the second bedroom saying, “And don’t say a word, you fucking weasel, or I’ll shut your trap for good!”
“I’ll get you for this…!” Rasheed hollered in response to Johan’s deliberate insults.
Before Johan had time to lock the door of the room, Hjamal was on his feet and pushing past him. “Sorry, Johan, but let me have a word with him,” Hjamal said.
Johan shrugged and stood aside. Talya watched the scene. I wonder what he’s going to tell him. However, if Talya was hoping to understand a word of what was to be said between Hjamal and Rasheed, she was out of luck. Their entire heated exchange consisted of a string of expostulations in Malenke—the Senegalese dialect—which Talya could not interpret.
Once Hjamal had vent his anger, he came back to take his seat on the sofa. “I’m sorry, Madame Kartz—”
Johan then locked the door, put the key in his pocket and regained his seat at the bar.
“No, not at all, I’m the one who should apologize.” Talya said, shaking her head. “You see, Monsieur Fade is Madame McLean’s uncle. She’s a widow and he feels a responsibility toward her—”
“I understand, Madame, believe me, I do. And I hope that now you’ll believe me when I say I didn’t know where Monsieur Savoi and his niece were.”
Talya had regained her seat across from him. She couldn’t bring herself to give credence to the man she had wanted to trust ever since she first saw him in Vancouver, but now, more than ever, she wanted to listen to him. He had a story to tell.
Suddenly, Talya saw Mohammed come out of the bedroom. He still looked angry. He advanced into the living room hesitantly at first. Hassan grabbed him by the arm from behind and whispered something in his ear. Mohammed shook his head and took a few more steps to stand over Hjamal who looked at him defiantly.
“I apologize for my earlier behaviour toward your associate,” Mohammed began. “However, it’s obvious you are ultimately responsible for the abduction and for detaining two members of my family. And that, Monsieur, is an offence I will not set aside. Therefore, and once I’m back in Mali, I will file extradition papers against you and I’ll have you face the courts when ever the authorities will have done with you here. You can rest assured, Monsieur Hjamal; I will stop at nothing to have you brought to justice.”
Hjamal was astonished. He turned to Talya and got to his feet, briefcase in hand. He was ready to leave. Talya didn’t want him to go anywhere. They needed to talk—him and her. Although equally stunned, Talya thought something like this had to be expected. Mohammed was a strong believer in Islam’s justice, and he wouldn’t let this matter rest without taking some form of action against the man he thought responsible for unwarranted treatment of members of his family.
“Will you excuse me for a moment?” Talya said to Hjamal. This meeting is getting out of hand.
“Yes, of course, by all means,” Hjamal replied, looking down at the rueful expression on her face. He sat down again, put his briefcase between his legs, shaking his head.
“Let’s go and talk about this…,” Hassan said.
“I’m not finished…!” Mohammed flared.
“Yes you are, for now anyway.” Once again, Hassan grabbed his friend by the arm and pulled him away.
“Let’s go to the terrace, shall we?” Talya suggested to Hassan and Mohammed.
“All right then,” Mohammed said with reluctance in his voice, and the three of them went out.
The wind was up, brushing against their faces. It was refreshing, almost cold. Talya put her elbows on the railing and gazed at the ocean. Her two friends came to stand beside her, the banister supporting their backs. Hassan crossed his arms over his chest. Mohammed looked disconcerted but his edginess told Talya that his resentment of Hjamal was burning a fire of insanity in his mind.
“Listen to me, Mohammed.” She turned her head toward him. “There is no way to prove Hjamal is responsible for Rheza’s abduction. We can’t threaten him with anything at this point. We need to find out the truth first. Then we’ll be able to take action. For now, we’ve got nothing but speculations. I’ll repeat what you’ve said about me a while ago: “…you have a tendency to lose your temper once in a while, which in Senegal may cost you your life.” So, I’ll ask you, as a friend, take your own advice and take it easy, will you?”
“And, don’t display any more antagonism, I pray you. The man is dangerous and you know it.”
“Yes, I know I’m overreacting, Hassan, but I can’t help what I feel.” Mohammed’s voice was shaking. “You know what I mean?”
“I know, but this isn’t the time or the place.” Hassan was visibly upset with his friend’s behaviour.
“Okay then, let’s go back inside and try to relax,” Talya said to both of them.
They walked in ahead and went to sit at the dining room table. Talya returned to her seat.
Ahmed Hjamal had been observing the scene from where he sat. “I’m sorry for what’s happening, Madame Kartz, but really we can’t continue with these discussions with all of these people around.” For once, Talya had to agree with him.
Johan jumped off his stool. “Would you like us to go downstairs for awhile and leave you two alone to sort this out?”
That was the best suggestion she had heard yet that morning. “I think that’s a good idea. Would you mind?”
All at once with a rumble of chairs, her three companions trotted out of the room. Hassan looked back at Talya with pleading eyes. She knew he would have preferred to stay, but she was having none of it.
Rasheed was still locked up in the bedroom so she didn’t have to worry about him for now.
Talya called after Johan before he left and said, “I’ll call the reception when we’re done and you could come back then?”
“Okay. We’ll probably go to the restaurant. Don’t worry, we’ll stay around.” He closed the door and she was left alone to face her foe (or friend?).
Hjamal looked relieved to be able to speak freely now. Talya herself breathed an audible sigh of relief.
70
When the three of them arrived in the hall, Hassan decided it was high time he had a talk with Mohammed.
“Johan, would you mind very much if I took Mohammed aside for a moment? We need to talk.”
“Of course not. I need to stretch my legs anyway. I’ll leave word at the desk so Talya can find us when she’s ready.”
“Thanks, we won’t be long.”
Hassan and Mohammed went to sit on a sofa by the Baobab and Johan went off in the direction of the front desk.
“Mohammed, what’s got into you? What do you think you were doing up there?”
“Don’t start. I’m not a child—”
“No, but you’re behaving like one. Do you remember what we’ve talked about before we left? I thought we’d agreed that you should stay away from this situation.”
“I know, but that was then. And now that I’ve seen, with my own eyes, who we’re dealing with, there was nothing that could have held me back.”
“And you allow yourself to forget about your family, your children, your position just to satiate your desire for revenge?”
“I guess I did. And I would do it again in a minute given the chance.”
“Well then, you’re not thinking straight. You seemed to have forgotten usal-al-figh (the source of Islamic law). You can’t take the law into your own hands; you have to abide by the law of Islam, if not the law of the country. And nowhere does it say that you are permitted to take revenge without being commanded to do so.”
“I know all that, Hassan. I guess I was only seeing this beast, Rasheed, touching Rheza and fury invaded me at the thought.”
“I understand, but even if that were so, it’s not up to you to strike Rasheed and you know that too. Also, you can’t menace the man who appears to be responsible for this offence. And I stress, Hjamal only appears to be responsible because if you listen to Talya, to her every word and the answers she’s getting, you would soon understand what has been happening.”
“Do you mean Hjamal has got nothing to do with Rheza’s abduction, that he didn’t know she was held at the mine? I would never believe that.”
“You’re not listening are you?”
“What? What am I not listening to?”
“Just this, Rasheed said, and I quote: “I removed him all right. And I did the same with his stupid niece.” Which means Rasheed took upon himself to take Rheza to the site and Hjamal didn’t know anything about it.”
“So should I just forget about Amadou Savoi as well…? Hjamal knew about him being taken to the mine?”
“No, I don’t think he did. Not for a fact, and here again you have to think about what happened. Why would Hjamal try to take Talya to the mine if he knew Savoi was there? That doesn’t make sense. Hjamal is very astute and extremely calculating in everything he does. So how could he make a mistake like that?”
“Then you believe this is all Rasheed’s doing?”
“I’m convinced of it. Look, if it were not the case, Talya wouldn’t have allowed herself to be left alone with Hjamal. She’s too smart for that. What she’s doing now is planning her next move and getting answers from Hjamal about Gillman’s murder, nothing else.”
“I guess I should have stayed in Bamako. It’s much simpler to deal with irate ministers than it is to deal with this kind of thing.”
“And leave me alone to deal with Talya? You’ve got to be joking!”
They both smiled and sat in silence.
71
At last, Talya was alone with the man she admired somehow—she had to admit it. Something told her this scarred face man had very deep emotions and he was not a criminal. He was a dreamer. He had been out of his depth and he only wanted help to show him how to reach his goal.
“Let me apologize once again.” Talya took a seat beside him on the sofa. “Believe me, I had no idea our meeting would turn out this way.”
“It’s all right, Madame Kartz. Somehow, I knew something like this was bound to happen when family affairs are involved. You’ve lived in Africa long enough to know where families are concerned we can be very defensive and aggressive.”
How did he know how long I lived here?
“Thank you for your understanding, and I hope you’ll be as understanding when I ask you the next question.”
“Please go ahead, we’re here to talk. And don’t worry; I have nothing to hide from you.”
“What happened to Richard Gillman?” Talya was testing the waters. “Apparently, he was taken from Sabodala in July and his body was found only last week. What happened in the meantime?”
“I have absolutely no idea what happened to Richard between July and today. And, I really don’t know how he came to be murdered.”
Talya raised an eyebrow. She didn’t believe him. “How can that be? Richard was in fear for his life when he was working for you. You took his passport away the day he arrived. What’s more, you prevented him from contacting his office…”
“There are many facts you are unaware of,” he interrupted, brushing his gaze by Talya’s face. “Richard was never in fear for his life. He was just reluctant to do his job.”
“I can’t swallow that. Have you read the letter that was found on his body?”
“Yes, the police commissioner gave me a copy before I called you in Bamako.”
“Then, you know he’d been drugged and he couldn’t contact his company. How do you account for that statement?” Talya wanted the truth.
“I don’t have to account for anything, Madame Kartz.” He shot an indignant glance at her. “Maybe you didn’t know this, but Richard was, shall we say an eccentric at the best of times and he behaved strangely most of the time, as if he were drugged.” Drugs. Of course! “I rarely went to the site but every time I did, Richard was muttering to himself and the workers told me his demands were often quite extraordinary.”
Why didn’t Johan mention anything about Richard’s obvious problem?
“Are you saying he was a drug addict?”
“How else would you describe that kind of behaviour?”
“Maybe you’re right, but tell me, why didn’t you send him home then? Or let him leave when he wanted to?”
Hjamal looked uncomfortable, and returned to staring at the floor. “I had paid in advance fifty percent of the purchase price, and a hundred percent of the parts, shipment and installation of the mill. Richard was assigned to accompany the equipment, to assemble the mill and connect it to the existing circuit. When we got the mill, there were parts missing—that mill door was missing—and some were broken. So I had to contact the company in Canada, and I personally transmitted the messages Richard wanted to send.”
“But if you did, why did he have to be rescued?”
He hesitated. “Because the responses I got from the fax I had sent to Richard’s company were at best outrageous. All pieces missing, they said, were to be purchased and shipped at my expense. Apparently they omitted to verify the content of the shipment and they hadn’t insured the parts together with the mill.” He turned his face to Talya and locked eyes with her as if he wanted to make sure she understood his every word. “There was no way I would’ve accepted such a demand. It was unbelievable.” He paused. “And that coming from a Canadian company, it was just incredible. I had already paid for half of the mill. I wasn’t going to pay for the missing items twice. So I wrote back saying I would not allow Gillman to return to his country until they sent the missing parts and the installation of the mill was completed.”
Talya was amazed. Hjamal actually confessed to detaining Richard against his will. Although, she felt her irritation return at a galloping pace, she kept her mouth shut and listened to the end of Ahmed Hjamal’s story.
“I got an answer saying they weren’t in the habit of being held at ransom and Gillman should find his own way home. So I left him to his own device and he soon found a way back to Canada.” He reclined in the seat and turned to her again. He seemed to be pleading for her tolerance.
Talya was shaking. She took a moment to regain control.
“I appreciate your candour, Monsieur Hjamal, however, that doesn’t answer the question I posed earlier. When did Richard come back? And why?” Talya only showed all the restraint she could muster.
Renewed reticence had replaced the anxiety Talya had seen in his eyes moments ago when he replied, “I have no doubt you’ll find out soon enough.” He shook his head slowly. “As for the details surrounding Richard’s murder, I don’t have them at the moment. I have my suspicions, of course, but I prefer not to divulge these until I could verify some of the information in my possession. And please, don’t misunderstand me, I have to follow my own advice and deal with this in my own way somehow.”
After a moment’s reflection, Talya said, “I have one more question. It has nothing to do with Richard or any other matter we’ve just talked about. I’d like to know why you wanted me at the mine yesterday instead of meeting you here, as planned. If you were so anxious to talk to me, why did you deliberately try to avoid the meeting?”
“That was a mistake on my part. I listened to Abdul. He persuaded me it would be better for us to meet at the mine today so we could show you everything that’s been done. And you could have taken some pictures perhaps back to Monsieur Flaubert to show him how far we’d gone in the construction of the plant.”
“If that was the case, wouldn’t it have been better for me to meet you in Dakar first and then fly together to the mine?”
“In hindsight yes, of course, it would have been the sensible thing to do. And again, I’m sorry.”
“It sounds to me like you’ve been listening to Monsieur Rasheed a little too much. Maybe you should think about changing assistant—”
“Without question, Madame Kartz.…” Talya knew then their meeting was at an end.
However, she reminded him; “Monsieur Hjamal, you have my word I will not reveal what you’ve told me today to anyone. Nevertheless, I’m sure there will be a time, in a not too distant future (I hope), when we’ll sit around the same table once again to discuss the Sabodala project together. If it comes to that, everyone will have to know the truth. I hope you realize that?”
“Do you mean no matter what happens now, you, or Carmine I mean, would be prepared to go ahead and help me?” His voice resounded of disbelief.
“Yes.” Talya smiled. “Somehow, I know, call it woman’s instinct if you like, but I know we’ll get to that point.”
“May I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course, what’s on your mind?” Talya was curious.
“What did you see when you took your little tour of the mine site yesterday?”
Talya had been wondering when that question would have come up. “Not much, really.” She paused. “I noticed a couple of things, though. You don’t seem to have used the processing line much lately, have you?”
“No, Madame Kartz, we haven’t. We’ve got a problem with water—”
“Have you thought about the water-table being lower in the dry season?”
Hjamal looked at her as if a light bulb had just been switched on over his head. “Do you mean we could re-start work once the rain season is upon us?”
“I’m sure you would have to wait a while before the water table is restored to its normal level, but that’s the general idea, yes.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me about this?”
“I’d suggest you need more than a few workers and a trouble-shooter to run a mine like this one, Monsieur Hjamal. An engineer or two wouldn’t have been a waist of money or time….”
“What’s the other thing you noticed?” Hjamal asked all inquisitiveness now.
“You’ve got gold sand all over the ground, did you realize that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, the gold in these parts has been deposited in fine dust in old river beds and strata that lay beneath the earth’s surface. This dust falls out when you start crushing the rock layers that you dig out of the benches of the mine. So, every time you crush rocks, gold dust is bound to find its way to the foot of the crusher tower—”
“You mean the sand at the foot of the crusher is filled with gold dust?” Ahmed Hjamal was agape with incredulity.
“Yes, and here again, an engineer would have alerted you of the possibility before constructing the processing plant.”
Hjamal hung his head and shook it, but said nothing.
Talya looked at him for a moment before getting to her feet. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll call the desk to get everyone back. We have to get this show on the road.”
A moment later, he smiled at Talya while she was on the phone to the receptionist.
“Hello? Is that Miss Katy?”
“Yes, Madame Kartz, what can I do for you?”
“Would you ask my colleagues—they’re downstairs somewhere, in the restaurant probably—to come back to the suite, please?”
“Of course, Madame, right away.” She hung up.
Talya regained her seat beside the tall African. “What I’ve decided to do next has to be done and I know you will not like it. But if you still want Carmine’s help it’s the only way.”
“Yes, what is it?” His whole attitude betrayed the anxiety he must have felt.
Talya looked at him. She was going to get the truth out of him—this admirable, egotistical dreamer. “We should wait for everyone to come back first, if you don’t mind. We need Johan to free Monsieur Rasheed from his temporary jail—”
“About Abdul Rasheed, I—”
“Please, be patient for a while longer.”

72
Hassan and Mohammed were still in the atrium when Johan came back to tell them Talya had called for them.
At that moment, Samir appeared out of nowhere and looked perplexed at seeing the three men by the terrarium. “Gentlemen, has the lady chased you out? That’s understandable mind you. I would have done the same in her shoes.”
The four men laughed and went to the elevators.
Arriving at Talya’s door, Samir knocked. Talya came to answer it.
Hassan was in first, practically pushing the door away from her.
“Are you all right?” he demanded, peering into her eyes.
“Yes, I’m fine. Monsieur Hjamal and I had a very instructive discussion, that’s all,” she replied flatly, after closing the door behind everyone.
She was glad to see Samir was with them. He smiled with another complicit look on his face and went to stand by the sideboard in the dining room, crossing his arms over his chest. Mohammed went to take a seat by the window while Hassan went to stand behind the sofa, apparently waiting for Talya to move somewhere near him. Johan resumed his stool by the bar. Talya trotted to the living room and looked at her assembled company, glancing in Hjamal’s direction—he had remained seated, observing everyone as they came in.
Talya said, “Johan, would you please get Monsieur Rasheed out of the bedroom? Thanks.”
He took the key out of his pocket, got off his stool and went to open the bedroom door. All eyes were upon Rasheed. I hope he hasn’t made a mess of that room. Then they heard it, before they saw the scuffle. “It’s about time! Where’s the bitch?” Rasheed shouted.
“You better watch your mouth, or I told you, I’ll close it permanently,” Johan yelled in his face.
Talya took the few steps separating her from the door, but in no time, Hassan had grabbed her arm and had pulled her away. “You’re not going anywhere near them, Talya.”
“Hassan’s right,” she heard Samir say as he passed her and joined Johan to drag Rasheed out of the bedroom and flinging him onto the sofa.
“I’ll get you for this….”
“I told you to shut it, Rasheed. I’ve had it with you.” Johan was furious.
Hassan, leaving Talya’s side, went to stand behind Rasheed while everyone else went to sit or stand, facing the woman who had brought them together. Talya lowered her eyes to the floor. “I’m sorry, but it seems that we’re all very much on edge, so the sooner we get all of this trouble behind us, the better it will be.”
The men looked at her expectantly.
What they had heard earlier that day would have an indelible impact on their lives. Their future would be marked by these events. In the years to come, their paths would never cross again probably. They would not forget however, that a murder had linked them once and forever. These men knew the truth about the death of Richard Gillman. Even if they were not conscious of this knowledge, in a few hours the puzzle would be complete. What were now only pieces, fragments of a shadowy picture would be then assembled to reveal the image of their individual involvement in the Savoi Affair.
“Gentlemen,” Talya began, “having heard everything you’ve said this morning, I have come to the following conclusions. We need to find Monsieur Savoi to answer questions and assume responsibility for the part he obviously played in this affair.” Hassan smiled and nodded—he looked satisfied. “We need to find Madame McLean to ascertain her involvement.” Mohammed shook his head. “Lastly, we need to verify some of the statements Monsieur Hjamal has made to me this morning.” The latter raised his eyes to her—she had warned him he wouldn’t like it. “Therefore, and with your collaboration, I believe we can resolve this problem before going to the authorities.”
Addressing Rasheed now, Talya added, “Monsieur Rasheed, the joke is over. You’re going to go with Johan to the mine site today.” Rasheed tried to get up from the sofa.
Johan pushed him back brutally. “Don’t you move another inch!”
“Samir?” Talya called, looking in his direction, “If your assistance is still available…” He nodded and smiled in reply. He must have known beforehand that Talya would impose upon his generosity. To get his aircraft ready was not only timely, but also insightful.
Turning once again to Rasheed, Talya went on in an even tone of voice, “Captain Sahab will fly you there and he’ll bring back Monsieur Savoi and Madame McLean to Dakar tomorrow. I hope, for your sake, that both of them are alive and well.”
“This is intolerable. I’ll—”
“Monsieur Rasheed, you’ll have to comply with my request.” Talya was trying very hard to maintain her temper in check. “It’s either that or I’ll call the police commissioner right now.”
“You wouldn’t dare! You can’t…,” Rasheed shouted.
“I suggest you do exactly as Madame Kartz asks,” Hassan cut-in, “and be grateful she’s not called the police before now.”
Then Talya turned to her next quarry. “In the meantime, Monsieur Hjamal, I’ll ask you to go to your office with Maitre Sangor. There, he will verify that all contracts and permits pertaining to Sabodala are in order. So that if, and when Monsieur Flaubert decides to lend you a hand, he will be able to do so with peace of mind—”
“Do you think it’s absolutely necessary at this time?”
“Yes, it is, Monsieur Hjamal. Please remember what I’ve said earlier. You know very well you have no choice in the matter now.”
“All right then. But I’m doing this hoping that an entente between us can finally be reached.” By now, he knew there wasn’t any other way to try getting Carmine’s assistance if he ever wanted it. Nonetheless, he had to show his displeasure.
“Monsieur Fade?” Talya set her eyes on him. “If you don’t mind, you and I will remain at the hotel awaiting the results of Maitre Sangor’s investigation.” A broad smile came across his face. He had regained much of his aplomb somehow. He needed time off and so did Talya.
Hjamal tried once again to say something but she interrupted him before he even began, “Please go, Monsieur Hjamal, and get me the answers I need.”
“All right, Madame Kartz, as you say.” His face was stern but acquiescent. He took his briefcase and marched out of the suite.
Hassan wanted to approach Talya before leaving. She feigned to ignore him, turned away and walked out to the terrace. He stood at the door for a moment, dismayed and undecided. He then turned and rushed after Hjamal.
Samir watched Hassan and Talya, looking puzzled at her reaction. However, it was time for him to go. Johan plucked Rasheed out of his seat. The latter shook off his assailant and tried to regain the little composure he had left.
He called out to Talya. “I’m a powerful man in these parts. I’ll have you thrown out of Senegal …” She wasn’t listening.
She then saw Johan grab the fellow by the arm, and with Samir’s help, physically drag him out of the suite. They were on their way to Sabodala. Talya rushed to the door after them.
“Samir?” she called out. He turned, retraced his steps, came to face her and looked into her eyes. “Please, as soon as you can, let me know what’s happening, will you?”
“Of course, and please don’t worry, we’ll do our best. We’ll bring them back.”
“Have a safe trip then,” she said, still wanting re-assurance.
“Inshallah.” In a moment, he, too, was gone.
73
When the door finally closed, Talya had an overwhelming feeling that she had reached the end of the road. She was at the exit of a tortuous maze. She knew she had to leave Africa soon—that always troubled her.
Her thoughts went back to Hassan. Her heart was churning inside her. He had resurrected buried emotions as well as resentment, resentment of her past. Talya was not about to open up to him. She was comfortable shutting these events of her youth out of her mind. Yet, Talya cared for the man, but she couldn’t accept the way she felt about him. She knew their relationship couldn’t go any further than these few weeks of working together. The thought of abandoning him to his great or dismal future was uncomfortable, not to say guilt-ridden. Talya had to face Hassan and tell him that they had to part forever. She knew she was a master at negotiating her way out of the most intricate dilemma and a master at leaving the site of conflict. However, she also knew she wasn’t good at handling Love with a capital L. In fact, she was lousy at any kind of closeness with a man.
Mohammed had been standing in the embrasure of the bedroom door for a while, observing the spectacle that had taken place minutes earlier. He was more relaxed now. The edginess had gone. Since there was a small mosque adjacent to the complex, Talya thought he had probably gone to pray with Hassan when they were downstairs.
“You look pensive. What is it?” he said, coming to join her on the terrace.
“Nothing, my friend, nothing really.”
“I don’t know you very well, but I can see something is bothering you.”
“It’s nothing, I assure you. What happened this morning and during the past few days is starting to take its toll, that’s all.” Talya kept her eyes on the ocean.
“I’ve got to say something to you. And please hear me out.”
“What is it?” She turned to him.
“Yesterday Hassan told me how he felt about you. I knew already he was serious, but how serious he actually is, I didn’t know. You’re going to leave us very soon now. Your departure will be extremely painful for Hassan, do you realize that?”
“I know. Why do you think I’ve been trying to evade him since he arrived?”
“Yes, I’ve noticed that. I’ve seen you walk away from him just now.” Mohammed was looking at her with deep concern in his eyes. “You know, Hassan has a one-track mind, which is actually what got him where he is today. He won’t give up on you. You can be sure of that.”
“You mean Hassan is stubborn?” Talya smiled.
Mohammed laughed. “You’ve not known him for long but it seems to me you’ve been able to detect that little flaw in his character, haven’t you?”
“I wouldn’t call it a ‘little flaw’—it’s more like a huge and obvious streak if you ask me—but I know what you mean. I’ll have to deal with it when the time comes. I’ll tell you now; I will not deliberately hurt him. I couldn’t. But he’s got to face facts. There won’t be any way around it.”
They stood side by side in silence for a while, looking at the ocean. The white crests of the crashing waves in the midday sun were resplendent against the teal-coloured sea. There were people on the beach beyond the garden below the terrace. They were playing volleyball. The scene brought Talya back to her school days. She would often go to the beaches of Conakry to play with her friends. They would go swimming with their instructor in the early hours of the morning, until one day, a boy her age, a classmate, drowned. He had been dragged against the rocks by the under-tow and when they brought him back, his face was horribly wounded. His left cheek hung aside his jaw. Had he lived he would have worn the reminder of his ordeal in the same way Ahmed Hjamal did. His name had been Ahmed, too. Talya could feel the tears flowing to her eyes and down her cheeks.
Seeing this quiet display of emotions, Mohammed said, “I think you need a change of scenery. What about lunch at the beach? There is a spot in Dakar called ‘Les Almadies’. It’s quite a nice place and the restaurants are of international reputation. Let me take you there.”
Talya quickly wiped her eyes with trembling fingers. “That’s sounds like a good idea, but don’t you think we should stay? We could get a call...” Her voice faltered.
“That won’t happen for hours yet…. The sooner we go the sooner we’ll get back. What do you say?”
“I suppose a few hours away from this hotel wouldn’t do me any harm.”
“That-a-girl. Let’s go then.”
“Okay, but I want to change. I won’t be long.”
She made her way to the bedroom while Mohammed went to sit on the sofa and waited.
Talya was glad the porter had brought back the laundry while she was downstairs that morning. The white blouse and linen trousers were hanging in the closet. She quickly changed into them and went to the bathroom to splash water on her face. The mirror that never lied, told her how tired she looked. Never mind, you know what I’m going through, so don’t add to my self-pity, will you?
74
Abdul Rasheed tried to look as dignified as his unkempt appearance would allow. Samir and Johan were marching him across the lobby. Johan had his backpack slung over one shoulder. He had gone to his room, had packed it quickly while Samir and Rasheed had waited for him in the corridor. Samir had his bag already aboard the plane. He had known something like this was likely to happen, when he had gone to the airport that morning.
The porter in front of the hotel hailed a taxi for them and asked the driver to take the fare to the airport. They arrived some twenty minutes later. It was little after two o’clock. Given the time it took to fly to the mine-site and drive to Sabodala, they would reach their destination before nightfall.
Once Samir had filed his flight plans, the three men were on their way to the parked aircraft. The technician in attendance helped Samir to prepare the plane for take-off. Within minutes of climbing aboard, they were taxiing toward the runway.
Strapped in his seat, Abdul Rasheed looked positively belligerent.
Johan sat across from him. “Now, you bastard, let’s have it.” He fastened his seat belt.
“I have nothing to say to you or to anyone.” Rasheed averted his eyes from Johan’s glare.
“Keep that spiel for the courts. What I want to know is what you did with Madame McLean and Savoi.”
Abdul Rasheed turned his head to the window. “Why should I tell you anything?”
“Because you and I know what’s going on at the mine.”
Rasheed took off his glasses. “What are you talking about? There’s nothing going on at the mine.”
“Oh no? I’ve seen you. Remember, I was there. I know you’re planning something and I’d like to find out what it is.”
Seemingly indifferent to Johan’s pressuring questions, the man sitting opposite him took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his spectacles meticulously. “You know nothing. I’ve not planned anything. I just followed Hjamal’s instructions.”
Johan snickered. “Sure, sure, but what about all that nitro? Are you planning to have a wholesale event?”
“I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.” Rasheed blew on the one glass and wiped it again.
“You’re gearing for something—I know that much.”
“Why all the questions then? As you say, you were there, so you should know there’s a lot we have done you and I.” He replaced the glasses atop his nose.
Johan was taken aback. What is this guy babbling about?
“Don’t look so surprised, Johan, you know darn well there’s more than nitro in that camp.”
“I gathered that, but that’s not the point. What I want to know is what you’re planning to do with the drugs.”
Rasheed laughed. “As if I’m going to tell you. It’s already bad enough that you meddled in my business for all these months. You were a real pain, you know that?”
“Okay. I can see that you’ve crossed me off your list—”
“You bet I have. I tell you something else; just watch your back. From now on I’ll have you in my sight and as soon as this is over, I’ll prepare for your funeral.”
Johan leaned to the back of the seat and closed his eyes. The weight of his conscience was bearing down on him. How was he going to tell Talya?
They traveled in silence for the rest of the three hours it took to reach the airstrip ten kilometres away from the mine.

While at the control and once his aircraft had reached cruising altitude, Samir turned his thoughts to Talya and Hassan. Samir was a man whose perspicacity was renowned. He had seen Talya’s eyes. He had seen her feelings in those eyes. She was scared. She was afraid, afraid of being trapped, afraid of being locked into a relationship or a marriage she would regret. She seemed devoid of feelings for Hassan. How could he make her see the trap that lay ahead? Perhaps she knew it already. Perhaps it was not too late to stop her.
Yet, there was something else she feared—Samir could sense it—but what?
It had to be in her past. Her rejection of male advances was insensitive. Why? What lay hidden in this woman’s past? Samir was determined to find out.
75
Les Almadies proved to be as pleasant as Mohammed had described. They ate at the Terrace Restaurant in the shade of huge mango trees. The breeze from the ocean provided a welcome relief from the heat. There were about twenty tables, which stood precariously over the irregular slate floor. They ordered grilled fish and prawns. A bowl of rice came with the order. They ate while talking about the many secret places, which Mohammed knew lay hidden in Dakar and surrounding beaches. Slowly and in a round about way, they came to talk about Hassan’s life, his past, and his desire to get out of Mali to carve his future in foreign stones. Of course, the subject of mixed marriages inevitably came up.
Fiddling with his teaspoon, Mohammed said, “Have you ever considered the possibility of marrying again?” How does he know I have been married once?
“Of course I have. But not with anyone like Hassan.”
“You mean anyone black like Hassan?”
“Not exactly. The colour of our skin doesn’t matter as much as customs and creed do. In my opinion, they are very much in the way of any such union. Hassan’s family would make sure he didn’t forget how he has been raised—as a Muslim. As for me, I’m Jewish. Maybe in the broadest sense of the term, yet my beliefs couldn’t be waved in favour of another or different God.” Mohammed was peering into her eyes. Undeterred by his scrutiny, Talya went on, “And I’ll be honest with you, although I have the greatest respect for your way of life, I couldn’t see myself sharing my husband with other wives or concubines. My views on the subject are not that liberal. Maybe I admire Hassan and I respect him and even love him, but I can’t see us married. And I can’t see him sharing my life.”
“Maybe you don’t know Hassan as well as I thought you did then. I say that because I know Hassan wouldn’t marry more than once, for one thing. Perhaps you don’t know this either, according to the laws of Islam and as practiced in Western Africa, you have a choice when you marry for the first time. Before he takes his first wife, a man has to declare solemnly and forever how many wives he wishes to take. And in Hassan’s case, I know for a fact, that he won’t take anymore than one bride.”
“But—” Talya tried to cut-in when Mohammed held his hand up to stop her interruption.
“And as for seeing Hassan sharing your life, possibly, and from what you have just described, you are the one who is not prepared to share his life.” No wonder Mohammed was in politics—he caught her—he was right.
76
As he approached their destination, Samir began circling the area to take a closer look at the scenery below. There were three distinct hills each separated by a stream.
The hill, on his left, was covered halfway with sparse green vegetation growing luxuriant over the red, laterite earth. Here and there little trees protruded from the bushes. At the top of that hill, there was a small village—Sabodala. Small and larger white huts were gathered around a rain-tree. It stood tall at the centre of the community. It is a tradition in some parts of West Africa to build villages around a tall majestic tree, which is supposed to bring prosperity to the villagers. Below the village, and nearly reaching the creek’s levees, Samir noticed three gaping holes, each the size of a small house. He wondered if those were mine adits.
The middle hill was partly denuded of vegetation. On the one side of it, a bench had been carved and levelled into a wide platform allowing enough space for Hjamal’s processing plant.
Samir lowered the aircraft close enough to count as many as three bulldozers and five trucks parked in a lane-way beside the plant. At the end of the lane-way, he saw two freight containers standing well away from the plant and the compound above. On the bench-like plateau, there were two rectangular buildings covered with corrugated iron sheets, and erected at the bottom end of a long line of heavy machinery and equipment, winding its way around the platform. In the middle of this boa of metal, an enormous trough filled with clean water reminded Samir of a lonely pond in a forest of incongruous giants.
Higher and closer to the crest of the hill, there was another group of huts aligned on either side of a centre road—presumably the mining camp.
Vegetation and trees covered the third hill entirely. At the bottom of it, on the stream’s embankment, Samir saw some cattle leisurely walk in a single file followed by a cattleman brandishing a long stick. The noise of the engines roaring overhead must have disturbed his stock. He wasn’t happy. Samir raised the plane and turned, once again heading for the landing strip. There, beyond the third hill he saw a long winding dirt road leading from the strip to the camp. At some point, it forked off in opposite directions to end on either side of the compound.
No one was in sight when the aircraft touched down. The attendant at the mining camp radio had promised to send a car to meet them. Yet nothing remotely resembling a vehicle of any sort was approaching their position.
Samir look out the side window. Not even a sight or a smell of a camel in this God forsaken place. He then turned off the engines and began filling out his flight report.
77
They got back to the hotel just in time to hear the phone ring.
Talya lunged to the phone and picked up the receiver. Mohammed rushed into the bedroom to listen to the conversation on the extension.
“Hello?” Talya took a deep breath.
“Hassan here. I’m finished …” His voice was incisive.
“How did it go? Did you find out anything?” Talya said with some impatience.
“Yes, I did. And I’ll tell you what it is if you’d stop interrupting.” That wasn’t incisive, that was darn right brusque. What’s got into him? “Umm … Hjamal couldn’t show me any proof of ownership of Sabodala. He doesn’t have any title, deed or any permit over the property. In fact, I’ve discovered that he’s illegally mining the land. I’ve also found out that large sums of money have been transferred from Mali into his account during the last few months, close to five hundred thousand dollars, to be precise. I’d say you’ve got your money back.” The bitterness in his voice was throwing dart at Talya’s thoughts.
“Wow!” she uttered, rallying a little while dread began to creep into her mind. “That’s great. How did you manage to get that last bit of info?”
“That’s for me to know, and for you never to find out,” he snapped.
What did he do? Talya immediately thought of an earlier conversation with Hassan: “Savoi is a menace; he’s got to be stopped.” She was hoping to God that Hassan hadn’t resorted to a form of blackmail to obtain that much information from Hjamal.
“Is Mohammed with you?” Hassan demanded.
“Yes. He’s listening on the extension.”
“Hi, Hassan, I’m here,” Mohammed joined in.
“Are you ready for this—both of you?”
“What? What have you been doing?” Mohammed jumped in before Talya could.
“Hjamal’s been playing both sides against the middle. He’s used not only Carmine’s funds but I’ve found some bank statements which show that some of Rheza’s estate has gone through Savoi’s bank to end up in Hjamal’s account.”
It took a while before Talya could say anything. Every inch of her froze in time and space. She heard Mohammed hang up and saw him come back to sit on the sofa. He put his head between his hands—he was crushed.
“Hassan, I’m sorry, but I think you’d better come back as soon as you can. We’ve got to talk about this. You’ve got to talk to Mohammed. Do you realize what you’ve just done? Your friend can’t even speak—”
“I know. I’ll be back soon. I’m outside Hjamal’s office. I’ll grab a cab and I’ll be there in a half-an-hour. Okay?”
“That’s fine. We’ll see you soon.” Talya hung up and went to sit beside Mohammed. She would’ve liked to give him a shot of cognac but she knew he wouldn’t take it. She didn’t know what to do.
A couple of minutes later Mohammed lifted his head. “Talya, I know it’s not over, not by a long shot, but at this point, I want to say what a wonderful lady you are.” Talya was embarrassed. “You knew all along the right thing to do. Allah shall be praised for sending you to Mali. I hope you’ll be coming back to my country some day under more auspicious circumstances.”
“As far as I can see, I’ve brought you grief since I’ve met you.”
“No, you didn’t.” Mohammed shook his head emphatically. “No. What you’ve done is open the door to the truth. You’ve made me see what I didn’t want to see. That’s why I’m indebted to you. We all knew what Amadou Savoi had done. We just didn’t want to admit it. And, even me with the position I occupy in government I wouldn’t do anything about it.”
“Well, whatever you say, I guess.” Talya was upset. “But your advice and guidance made my assignment all the more easy.”
Mohammed smiled and got to his feet. “I best be on my way. I’ll go to my room and call my daughter to see if everything is okay at home. Then, I think I’ll take a stroll before nightfall. In the meantime, let me know if you get a call from the mine, will you?”
“Of course, the minute I hear anything I’ll let you know. But don’t you want to wait here for Hassan?”
“No, Talya. Tell him to come and see me when you two finish talking. It’s best if we discuss this alone. You understand?”
“I’ll see you later then.”
He waved at her from down the hall and was gone.
Talya was baffled when she closed the door. She went to sit on the terrace to think of the repercussions that this latest news could have on Carmine’s relationship with Minorex. There had to be a way of recovering the funds and a way to return Rheza’s estate to investment status. She couldn’t think how at the moment. Her mind still trying to follow some convoluted financial pathways, she heard a knock at the door. She went quickly to open it. She was apprehensive.
As Hassan marched in, she saw the signs of fatigue deeply etch his face.
“Where’s Mohammed?” was the only greeting Talya got. She still had the doorknob in her hand.
“He went back to his room. He said he wanted to talk to you alone.”
“Okay. I’ll go and see him. I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Hassan said gruffly, while marching out and closing the door in her face.


78
Hassan took the stairs down to the floor below and walked to Mohammed’s room. Knowing what Talya had said to Hjamal hurt him more than the discovery he had made about Rheza’s dwindling estate. Mohammed opened the door as if he had been waiting behind it for Hassan’s arrival. “Come in. Let’s sit on the terrace.”
Without a word, Hassan strode to the terrace and sat down in the chair he had occupied the evening before. Mohammed was anxious and went to sit opposite him.
They looked at each other before Mohammed decided to speak. “You’ve told me on the phone that you’ve discovered something about Savoi, and Hjamal using Rheza’s estate. Can you explain what you meant?”
“It’s fairly simple actually. Amadou Savoi helped himself to Rheza’s money, or she willingly gave some of her estate to him, probably thinking this was a good investment.”
“And what can we do about it? Can we recover the money somehow?”
“Yes. You should be able to, but it’s going to be tricky. If she invested into the venture willingly, and, if and when the mine goes into production, she can claim dividends and maybe recover her funds that way.”
“And if she didn’t?”
“Then it’s up to you to see that Savoi does the right thing when he claims dividends.”
“I see.”
“In any case, if Savoi goes to prison for embezzlement, any proceeds from the sale of the mine or its take-over will be returned to the creditors or investors if they wish to recover their funds. I suggest we talk to an investment advisor either here or in Bamako when this is over.”
Mohammed shook his head. “I guess we’ll know better once Rheza’s back. By the way, tell me something: why were you so abrupt with Talya just now?”
“Do you want to know the truth?”
“Of course I do. What a stupid question.”
“I don’t know that you’ll find it stupid once you know what I’m talking about.”
“Don’t beat about the bush—”
“Okay then. Hjamal told me that Talya promised to help him to develop Sabodala. Tell me, how could she do such a thing, when the man is a thief and a felon?”
“Now you’re the one jumping to conclusion. As you’ve said this morning—and I quote, “Listen to Talya…”—and, did you? Obviously you didn’t. You wouldn’t be here if you did.” Mohammed shook his head again. He could not understand why Hassan was so disagreeable.
“I didn’t hear her say she wasn’t going to help him?”
“Of course not, and you won’t.”
“You mean she’s going to help this guy?”
“I don’t know that she will or not, but what I know is that she will only do what is right, even if it hurts for a moment. In the end, you’ll see that she made the right decision in the first place.”
“I’ve got to find out from her what she intends to do. She’s driving me crazy.”
“I can see that. You’re like a bouncing ball that no one can catch. But you know what’s even more worrisome…?”
“No. What?” Hassan’s edginess was lashing.
“You’re getting jealous.”
“Of course I am. I would go to the moon and back for this woman even if she rejected me every day for the rest of my life, but hearing she’s going to lend a hand to a man who’s not even worthy to kiss her feet, is more than I can take.”
“Hassan, you should really calm down. And—”
“I’ve got to go and see her, Mohammed. Sorry. I’ll see you later.” Hassan hurried out without another word.
79
“Well. How’s that for a huff and puff?” Talya said aloud, looking in puzzlement at the closed door. She went to the bar, poured herself a cognac, and carried the soothing drink to the terrace where she sat in one of the lounge chairs. The wind had not abated. If anything, it was getting stronger. She saw some clouds gather on the horizon. Very much in the same way, clouds were gathering at the rim of her thoughts. She watched the birds dancing overhead and soon began drawing a picture in her mind.
Suddenly, a loud knock at the door brought her back from her conjuring thoughts. It sounded more like a banging. That sort of thing doesn’t get Talya out of her seat usually, quite to the contrary in fact. She remained seated and sipped her cognac. The banging became louder. She leisurely ambled to the door. “Who is it?”
“Hassan. Damn it, open this door.” More because she didn’t want to disturb the neighbours than because she wanted to let him in, Talya opened the door and put on the most radiant smile she could find in the recesses of her tired face. He marched in as he did earlier. This time she closed the door and went to stand in front of him in the middle of the living room.
Talya looked up at him. “Hassan, I’d appreciate if you would remember whom you’re talking to when you come in to my home.” Her voice was striking as a crop on a horse’s behind. “I’m not in the habit of responding to loud banging at my door nor am I used to be addressed in the same manner as you do your servants. Now, if you wish to sit down, be my guest. But don’t expect me to kneel at your feet, because I’m not in the mood at the moment.”
She had about as much as she could take for one day, and Hassan’s mood swings didn’t do anything to smooth the edges of her feelings.
Hassan stared at her in surprise as if he were coming out of comatose. “I’m so sorry. Please forgive me. I am tired. Everything I’ve learned this afternoon is quite unnerving for me, to say the least.”
For a moment, Talya thought he was going to take her in his arms. He sat down instead.
“Don’t tell me this was the first time you’ve made such discoveries. After all, you’re a lawyer. You’ve faced détournement of funds before today, I’m sure. That sort of thing shouldn’t affect you that much.”
“No. You’re right it shouldn’t, but it does because it’s hitting close to home, I suppose.”
Talya went to the terrace, grabbed the snifter, drank a little more and went back to sit beside him on the sofa, putting the nearly empty glass on the coffee table. Hassan looked at it but made no comments. She knew he didn’t approve of anyone drinking during the day. However, at this point, Talya didn’t give two hoots about what he thought on the subject.
Hassan had a questioning look in his eyes. Now what? His all attitude was disconcerting.
He said, “When I was in Hjamal’s office he told me a little bit about your discussion this morning. He told me that you promised to help him.” So, our Monsieur Hjamal had been bragging.
“I won’t explain anything of that discussion to you or to anyone for now. I don’t have to, but for the sake of fairness I’ll tell you this: all I’ve said to Hjamal was that ‘I could see us around the same table some day, reviewing the Sabodala project.’ I certainly didn’t promise him anything.”
“He said you’d help him.” Hassan was pleading for some sort of denial from her.
“Please don’t do this.” She paused. “However, since you insist, yes, I did say there was a possibility Carmine would help him.”
“With your recommendation—”
“No. Not mine, not anyone’s, that’s were you’re deluding yourself. Carmine couldn’t help Hjamal, or anyone for that matter, just on my say-so. They would only help if they were satisfied the owner of Sabodala was in possession of all documentation necessary to enter into such a partnership.”
“So, where did he get the idea that you were going to help him?”
“Do you realize that you are doubting my word?” Talya was getting annoyed. “You’re taking Hjamal’s babbling over my explanation of what happened between him and me.”
“No. You haven’t given me any explanation as you call it. You’ve only told me what Hjamal was supposed to understand. And I tell you, he didn’t understand what you meant—none of it.”
Jealousy is a very dangerous feeling and it was raising its ugly head in Hassan’s eyes.
“All right. I won’t go over this again. You believe what you like and whom ever you want to believe, I don’t really care. The discussion I had with Hjamal was a business discussion, and it has no bearing on what may happen next.”
“And pray tell me what should happen next?” He was sneering.
“Can you tell me something?” She sat closer to him. “Are you jealous?”
“What do you think? Of course, I’m jealous and I’m hurt. To think that you’d even contemplate helping a man the likes of Hjamal is beyond me.”
“I’m sorry, but if a misunderstanding should raise barriers between us, such as jealousy, I would have to conclude that your impartiality has gone by the wayside.”
Mixing friendship and business is always dangerous. It’s my fault for letting it go thus far.
“I know, but how could I be impartial when you go around telling Hjamal, of all people, that you’d help him? Tell me, how could I?”
“You know what Mohammed told me this afternoon? He said that you had a one-track mind, and that’s why you were where you are today. You know what else, I believed him. You have a one-track mind and look at where it’s got you now? You keep on repeating what Hjamal told you—out of context, I might add—and you won’t accept what I’m telling you, and the result got you into a fight with me.” Talya let that sink in for a minute while she drank the rest of her cognac. “You’ve got to look further than the tip of your nose.” She shook her head. “You have the tendency to jump to conclusions. In this business, it’s not only awkward but it’s also dangerous. If I said anything to Hjamal that can be construed as giving him my help, let it be. Furthermore, when you’re looking at the big picture, Sabodala is still a very prospective property. Carmine might be interested in pursuing its development with who ever owns it at the time, be it Hjamal or some other individual. Think about it.”
Hassan got up, went behind the bar and poured himself a glass of juice, which he brought back to the table and sat down again, across from Talya this time.
She went on undeterred, “You of all people should know that a deal is not made or broken just because of one man or his wrongdoing. We have a foot in the door here, and the future could be ours if we play by the rules and take the proper steps to stay in the game.”
“I understand all that, Talya. Believe it or not, I’ve seen the same road ahead of us as the one you’ve just described. But when it comes to you and me, my feelings get the better of me sometimes.”
“I’m glad you can see that, because if we have any future together, you’ll have to trust me and follow my lead from time to time.”
“Okay. You’ve made your point, now can we go back to us…?” We probably went round this a hundred times but there we are, back to ‘us’ again.
“Us? Do you mean ‘us’ as in you and me? There is no ‘us’, Hassan, not for now anyway,” Talya said in some agitation. “I have spent precious time, effort and money in coming to Dakar. I do not regret having done so, but as far as I am concerned, my mission ends here.” Her voice went up a pitch or two. “I don’t have any more time to waste in Senegal, and as for our project in Mali, until the permit is issued; my presence there is no longer required. I have to leave soon. You know that.”
“What about the murder? What do you want to do about that? And the money, I should think you’d want to recover it.”
“Hassan, the solution to the murder is staring at us. If Rheza and Savoi come back unharmed, you and I can go to the local authorities and give a statement. There is no need for us to do anything else. As for the money, we’re not in Europe or in Canada, we’re in Senegal.” She got up and went toward the terrace again. From the door, she turned to Hassan. “It was paid in good faith for services rendered. It’s over.” She walked back to the sofa.
Hassan listened but still kept his head down.
“As a lawyer, you know Carmine cannot hope to file suit, let alone build a case against Hjamal, or Savoi for making a deal. The money was earned, so to speak, and paid to Savoi as Carmine’s representative. If we were displeased with his services, the only recourse we had was to fire him. I think you should agree that, when Savoi fled from Mali, he had already resigned before we could reach him to dismiss him.”
Hassan had his elbows on his knees. He was looking down at the floor beneath him. “Talya, I thought you loved me. You said you did.” His train hadn’t left the tracks had it?
“Let me tell you something. I’m a loner. As for what we feel for each other, I’ve told you before, the excitement of our pursuit gave us a sense of desire, of physical yearning which unfortunately, doesn’t last for a life time. Yes, I love you, and I always will, but our relationship will not stand the pressure of time. I’m sorry, Hassan. I had to say this for both our sakes.”
Hassan was mortified. He lifted his head and peered into her eyes.
“Talya, the mere thought of you going away, even for a short time, is impossible.”
“Again, I’m sorry, but the day I’ll agree to spend my life with anyone, I’ll do it without any restraints, without any thoughts of separation or desire to go in any other direction than the one chosen by both of us. As it is, I found myself too many times wanting to escape, to get away from you. I can’t ask you to go through life chasing me to the four corners of the world, because that’s what you’d have to do. Yes, I care for you, but I care more about my freedom, and I, for one, have accepted the fact.”
“What am I supposed to say, Talya? What am I supposed to do?” His voice was laced with defeat.
“Perhaps, when you go back to Mali you should pray for guidance.” Talya tried to say this as gently as she could.
“Is it because I’m Muslim that you find our relationship hopeless?”
“I don’t find it hopeless, Hassan, but the fact that our beliefs are worlds apart makes our relationship very difficult.”
“I haven’t told you this before, but the only reason I’m a practicing Muslim now is because my family wanted it that way. Now that I’m a man, all that could change—”
“…and renege your entire family? Walk away from the people who raised you? No, you wouldn’t do that. Even if you did, in a short while, you would want to go back. You would miss your family, your friends and all that made your life what it is today. Although you’ve never proposed to me officially, for me, to accept marriage would be like accepting to sign our divorce papers at the same time.”
“I need you! And yes, I’d like you to be my wife….” The passion he must have felt at that moment was blatant and obviously painful.
“Hassan, can’t you see that marriage would destroy us? It would draw us apart. Maybe one day I’ll come back. In the meantime, we could try to see what line of conduct we should adopt between us and toward our respective families.”
Hassan got up, walked to the window, and turned to face Talya. “If we were to do what you’re asking, we would be denying ourselves the fundamental reasons for marriage—the love we would need to create the changes we would want to see in each other. We wouldn’t enjoy the support of one another to reach that goal nor would we grow into our marriage. I would need your love and support to change my way of life, such as you would need my love to grow into our union.”
Talya had enough. She didn’t want any part of this. “I need to be alone now. Please go.”
“Talya, I pray you, don’t chase me away,” Hassan pleaded.
“I’m not chasing you away, I’m simply asking you to leave me to think of what you’ve just said. I need to come to terms with everything that’s happened to us. And I can’t do that with you here, near me.”
Talya got up, thinking Hassan was going to take his leave as she asked. Instead, he grabbed her, embraced her and kissed her. She returned the kiss, taken in by the sensual feeling that had suddenly enveloped her.
When Talya closed the door on him, she was annoyed. She hadn’t wanted any of this.
80
“Thanks, Samir,” Johan said, stretching his arms above his head, yawning. “That was a great flight, and that last little run over the site was very interesting.”
“Well, there’s nobody here,” Rasheed barked from his seat. “Are we going to walk to Sabodala?”
“Shut your mouth,” Samir shouted from the cockpit. He was in no mood to be polite.
“Let’s have a look—” Johan took the binoculars out from under his seat and scanned the surroundings from one of the windows. “There….” He pointed to a cloud of red dust billowing above the nearby bushes. “That must be one of the four-wheel drives from the camp.”
Samir breathed an audible sigh of relief. Allah be praised. He un-strapped himself and went to the rear of the aircraft to lower the stairwell. Then he and Johan quickly brought the icebox and their bags to the ground at the foot of the stairs. They stepped back into the aircraft where Rasheed was already mopping his face from its fast-gathering perspiration. They pushed him forward and down the steps. Samir locked everything and as he came out, he saw Johan already spreading the canvass over the engine. Once Samir had taken care of all the technical details and he was satisfied that the plane was secured for the night, the three men began walking in the direction of the oncoming car.
As they strode across the strip, leaving the aircraft behind in its solitary spot, a dozen onlookers came rushing out of the shrubbery toward them, children mostly. Anywhere in Africa, it is customary for people to come and greet the travellers coming off an aircraft. Their curiosity apparently having not abated over the years, they’re always in awe in front of a ‘flying machine’. The group approached the three men with caution at first. The children then came closer to touch Samir. This man being clad of a uniform, they had concluded he was the pilot of the wonderful airplane that brought them down. Based on his long experience of flying to many such places throughout northern Africa, Samir was used to this display of affection and inquisitiveness. He smiled at the children and responded patiently with gentle words, even lifted one of the smaller boys and carried him in his arms for a few moments.
The car came to a stop in front of the three men. The driver recognized Johan instantly and ran out to meet him.
“Monsieur Johan, we not know you back soon. It’s good you here. Things are not going good.” He was a small man with watchful eyes and an emaciated face. His hair was covered with red dust. He wore a pair of shorts and a shirt, which had lost all of its buttons except for one. Both pieces of attire had been reduced to mere rags, frayed at the edges and they, too, were covered with a coat of red dust.
“All right, Daouda, we’ll talk later,” Johan said tersely. “Let’s get on with it. We need to get to camp before sunset.”
Johan climbed in on the front seat beside the driver, while Samir pushed Rasheed ahead into the backseat of the Landcruiser before taking the seat next to him. The poor car had definitely seen better days. Johan instructed the driver to take the back road, as he described it. They drove for a half-an-hour over a sandy and poorly maintained dirt track. Samir was afraid the axles wouldn’t take much more of such a beating, and he could see himself walking the rest of the way at any time now.
Johan and Daouda chatted all the way until they drew near the camp’s gate and the nervous tension seemed to rise. The time of truth was approaching. Samir was quietly praying. He had experienced troubles a few times in the past. Yet, he had always believed Allah would save him from his renewed encounters with evil and death. He was well aware of their presence that afternoon, however.
“We will be there in a few minutes,” Johan shouted over the noise of the motor. “Daouda tells me there is a problem with the wells. There isn’t enough water for the mill. There’s barely enough for drinking. It’s been like that for days.”
Samir said nothing. Rasheed snickered.
As they arrived at the mining village, a tall and gaunt man met them at the gate.
“Bonjour, Monsieur Johan.” He stood beside the car near Johan’s open window. “How was your trip?” His voice was steady.
“Hey, Mamadou, good to see you,” Johan said, clasping the man’s extended hand.
“My brother told me you’re coming and I’ve prepared a hut for you to spend the night.” He regarded the visitors with the determined and defending look of a soldier.
“I’m glad to hear we’re expected. How’s it going out here?”
“Not very good, Monsieur Johan, but I’m sure you know that already.”
“Yeah, Daouda told me.” Johan then flicked his right thumb at the back seats. “Monsieur Rasheed here, he is really impatient to see your two other guests, the ones he brought over here a while ago. So, can you show us where they are?”
“I don’t know... I can’t do that.” Mamadou looked somewhat ill at ease.
Rasheed brought his face out of the back window. “You damn fool!” he yelled. “Do what you’re told. Let’s go.”
“I can't, Monsieur Rasheed,” Mamadou repeated, shaking his head doggedly.
“What do you mean you can’t? Just tell the driver where they are and let’s get going….”
“But, Monsieur Rasheed, they’re not there anymore,” Mamadou mumbled.
“What? What are you saying, you idiot?” Rasheed was livid, terror gleaming in his eyes. His plans seemed to have backfired.
Johan and Samir got out of the car. Rasheed followed them, muttering insults under his breath.
“I don’t understand.” Johan was standing only a few inches from Mamadou’s face. “Are you saying the two people we’re looking for, are gone?” He was nothing short of amazed.
“Yeah.” Mamadou’s head bobbed up and down. “The man and the woman got taken in a truck this afternoon to go to Dakar.”
Johan shot a questioning glance in Samir’s direction but then turned to Mamadou. “Tell me, who sent the chauffeur?”
Clearly, the man dreaded something. “I don’t know this driver, Monsieur Johan, and that’s the truth. The driver said Monsieur Rasheed here sent him.” He pointed a finger at the culprit. “He said that Monsieur Rasheed phoned him yesterday to come and get the man and the woman and bring them back to Dakar.”
“What are you saying, boy? I didn’t call any driver,” Rasheed shouted.
“That’s what he said. He said you phoned—”
“You damn liar!” Rasheed extended his arms, evidently intending to grab at Mamadou’s collar—it didn’t happen. Samir flung his right elbow across the man’s throat, the force of which landed Rasheed on his behind. Winded and gasping for air, he looked at Samir astounded. Obviously, he wasn’t used to the treatment he had probably inflicted on others at whim many a time.
“Now, if you wouldn’t mind, Monsieur Rasheed,” Samir said, shooting a disdainful glance at the man, “let’s have no more interference from you, shall we?”
Rasheed grunted while getting on all fours in search of his glasses.
All the while Mamadou stood gawking at Samir—astonished.
Shifting his gaping stare from Samir and turning to Mamadou, Johan asked, “When did they leave? What time?”
“Around prayer time this afternoon—”
“That’ll put it at about two o’clock,” Samir cut-in helpfully.
“Okay. Don’t worry, you’ve done what you were told,” Johan said. “Tell us something else; how were the two people when they left? Were they okay?” He looked at Mamadou, tensely expectant.
“No, not really. They’d a touch of ‘palu’, I think.”
“I see. Well that’s all we needed to know for now. Let’s go to the hut you’ve prepared for us.”
“Yes, but what about Monsieur Rasheed here?” Mamadou nodded in Rasheed’s direction with visible contempt.
The latter looked like a discarded puppet coming out of a play-box. His beige suit was discoloured with brown stains around the armpits, and wrinkled every place it wasn’t creased. His greasy, limp hair looked as if he’d come out of bed that very minute. “Yeah. What about me?” He poked his chest with his right index finger.
Samir, whose tolerance had all but abandoned him, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and spurted with anger, “You, my friend, I suggest we leave you in the care of Allah. He will know if you deserve to sleep tonight. And we don’t really care where.” Samir released his grip and shoved the man aside. Rasheed shivered with rage, blurted out some insults and stumped off in the direction of the Main House.
In every village, or compound, there is such an edifice. It’s a meeting place, a sort of community hall and a house of prayers. There, the villagers meet, eat and talk. The men sit around in circles and discuss matters concerning their lives or their future. The women are not allowed to participate in these conversations. From time to time however, they gather of an afternoon, bringing their smaller children along and have an enjoyable time while the men are at work. On occasions, they also come and meet with the Elder to talk about their troubles, or make arrangements for some upcoming festivities. Yet, and most often, they come to find sanctuary in the Main House and pray.
Mamadou climbed in beside the driver. Samir and Johan sat in the back. Mamadou directed the driver toward a larger hut at the other end of the compound. All painted white, each one capped with a thatch roof, the huts stood neatly in a row on both sides of a centre lane. A few huts had an air conditioning unit sticking out from under one of the windows. Smoke rose from behind some of the houses and children were playing in the middle of the road. The whole site looked clean, well organized and cheerful—picture perfect. Since the sun had disappeared behind the horizon by then, the lights glowing from every window shone like pairs of eyes, staring out into the night in a row of onlookers along Main Street.
81
“Dad?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“There some guy on the phone—he sounds like a general—he’s asking if you’re in. Are you?”
“Did you ask for his name?”
“Yeah. He says he’s Sir Gillan ... or something like that.”
“That’s Sir Gillian to you, and yes, I’m in. I’ll be right there.”
James ran back into the house from the garage where he had been washing the car. Grabbing the receiver from his son’s hand, he blurted, “What’s happening, Sir Gillian,” dispensing with the usual niceties. “For you to call me at home, something must be wrong …”
“Yes. I’ll come to the point directly…”
“Is Talya all right? That’s all I am interested in hearing.” James’s abruptness only slightly betrayed what he felt—he was afraid for Talya.
“I understand, and I think she is—”
“Pardon me for interrupting, but did you say, you think she is? Does that mean you haven’t talked to her, or is that a surmise on your part?”
“I say I think she is, because when I last spoke to her she was, but then she vanished.”
The line went dead. Neither men spoke.
James took in a breath. “What do you mean vanished?”
“Just this: I was at the airport to meet her plane this afternoon and she was not on it. She had not postponed or cancelled her flight reservation. Upon checking with her hotel in Bamako, I was advised that she left the hotel on Saturday morning, and to this hour, we have not heard a word from her. I tried contacting Maitre Hassan Sangor, her solicitor, and I failed to reach him.”
“Have you tried the Meridien?”
“Yes, she has not checked in yet, apparently. I will try again once I know that she has in fact left Bamako. That’s the best we can do at the moment.”
“Maybe she decided to stay with some friends of Maitre Sangor, to avert attention,” James suggested.
“Yes, that’s a possibility, of course, but then how did she reach Dakar—if she ever did? That’s what I want to find out.”
“Okay. Keep me posted. I should be home all day.”
“I’ll be sure to do that ... and again, I’m sorry.”
“No need. Let’s just hope she’s okay when you find her.”
Sir Gillian rang off.
As James replaced the receiver, his young son looked up at him. “Is Talya okay, Dad?”
“I hope so.”
The boy had met Talya when she came to their house for the employees’ family barbecue and he liked her. Having no sisters—only four brothers—he considered Talya as his big sister. He didn’t know her very well, but since his dad mentioned her often after she left for Africa, he felt an affinity toward her. He really wished, with all his heart that she was okay.
Looking down at his son for a long moment, James made up his mind. He picked up the phone again and dialled Louis Daniel’s number. Louis had been his partner and friend for many years, and James valued his advice above anyone else’s.
“James? What are you doing at home on this beautiful Sunday? I thought you were taking the boys to the beach—”
“Yes, I thought so too, but something has happened to Talya.”
“What? What has she done now?” Louis sounded baffled. He knew Talya was brash and stubborn, and that worried him—she was liable to get in trouble more often than not, just to have it her way.
“I received a call from Sir Gillian a few minutes ago, saying that Talya was not on the flight to Dakar. He cannot locate her.”
“Don’t tell me—she’s gone off on her own.”
“It appears that way. What worries me, though, is that she tried to contact me and I was not there—”
“Did she leave a message?” Louis’s voice sounded as uneasy as James felt.
“Yes. She left a message with Sabrina on Thursday, and I didn’t get to return her call until yesterday. Although she had not checked out when I called, according to Sir Gillian, she left the hotel on Saturday.”
“Did she give any indication in the message of her intention?”
“No, nothing to say that she was leaving earlier than planned.”
“What’s the plan? What are you going to do?”
“What can I do, is the question.” James’s voice faltered.
“I suggest you get on the first plane out of here. This is getting too dicey for all parties concerned. If word should get out that we sent one of our employees to Africa without proper support, the investors would have our heads on a platter.”
“I know, I know. But if the ambassador can’t locate her with the resources he has at his disposal, how am I suppose to find her?”
“Don’t worry about finding her. Whatever happens, it’s better for you to be in Dakar than here. Anyway, if she calls here meanwhile, I’ll tell her that you’re on your way.”
“I guess you’re right. I think I’ll fly down to Seattle this morning and catch the first flight to New York. From there I can get on an Air Afrique flight to Dakar. It will be quicker than waiting for the BA flight tonight.”
“Good plan. Phone me when you get to Dakar. I’ll alert Terry and Ken in the morning, and let’s not spread any rumours for now.”
“Okay. I’ll call you.”
Within an hour, James was gone.
82
The car stopped in front of the last hut. Mamadou and the driver unloaded the bags and the icebox. As they entered their lodging, Johan turned on the switch beside the door. A single bulb came aglow. It was hanging at the end of an electrical cord hooked on one of the bamboo beams that supported the visible roofing thatch. The air-conditioner (called a ‘clim’ in these parts) also started purring. The two-room house was made of white-washed mud blocks. Covered with wooden shutters, the two square window holes flanked both sides of the heavy plank door. A thick wall, which stopped halfway down the length of the floor, gave access and separated what could be called the bathroom and the bedroom.
In the bathroom, the dirt floor was barren so to catch and drain the bathing water. Two large tin basins stood in the middle of the floor. A porcelain sink was fixed securely on the far wall. The sink, the tap above, and the drainpipe below it, were gleaming. They had been scrubbed regularly by the looks of them. There was no toilet or shower in none of the huts. Those were available in one larger house at the end of the main street, beneath which a septic tank drained the wastewaters.
Roughly cemented onto the ground, ceramic tiles covered the bedroom floor. There were two wooden beds against each of the walls. On each bed, a thick foam mattress in a slipcover rested over wooden slats. The linen consisted of two cotton covers, two pillows and four bed sheets neatly folded and piled on one of the beds.
“All the comforts of home, I see,” Samir said appreciatively, while looking around their home for the night.
“You know, this is the best hotel in town.” Johan knew the camp well. “We’re spoiled. I stayed here last year when things were running more smoothly. But after a while I got relegated at the other end of the camp near the gate. Down there you get hot. The huts are too far from the generators to get much power, so the clims only work part-time.”
Samir made no comments. He simply smiled and shrugged. He never liked air-conditioned rooms anyway. He preferred sleeping in his tent, feeling the softness of the breeze gently caressing his body during the night rather than the noise—even if only a purr—of an air conditioner.
Mamadou came in with the luggage and set them down under one of the windows. He then went to check if the water was running and made sure there was a full supply in the two basins in the bathroom.
When he was satisfied that everything seemed in order, he turned to Johan and said, with some embarrassment in his voice, “I’m sorry your friends are gone. But—”
“It’s all right,” Johan interrupted before the man had time to give what was sure to be a lengthy explanation. “I’ve told you before, don’t worry. We’ll find them.”
Johan was tired. He felt the burden of the years weighing on his shoulders. There will be a time when he could retire. Soon…, soon.
Mamadou left with the driver, reminding both Samir and Johan they were expected for dinner at the Main House in an hour’s time.
Once they were left alone, Samir and Johan sat on their respective bed and looked around, reflecting on the day’s events. A woman had thrown them in this trouble-ridden adventure. As if reading each other’s thoughts, they burst out into loud laughter.
“What a mess,” Johan said, shaking his head.
They were literally at the end of the road, left to their own device. What now? What were they supposed to do? The only logical thing to do was to return to Dakar in the morning. However, these sorts of problems were not often fended off by logic. Mostly by extinguishing each fire as it would come alight in front of them. They didn’t know where Savoi and Rheza were. Were they dead or alive somewhere on the side of the road between the village and the city? As for Rasheed, he would stay unseen. Whether they’d take him back to Dakar would also remain an unknown factor for the moment.
Taking turns, Samir and Johan bathed in the basins. They preferred to save the tap water for emergencies such as drinking. Samir went first. He shed his pilot uniform, brushed it, folded it carefully, and replaced it in his suitcase. He took his time and used plenty of soap to get rid of the red dirt, which seemed to cover every inch of his skin. Once he dried himself with a towel that he found on a small stool beside the basin, he then donned cotton trousers and a short-sleeve shirt.
Johan bathed quickly and changed his clothes even faster. He was conscious of the time. He wanted to get to the Main House and talk to Ashan, the Elder of the village. He must have some of the answers we’re looking for. He got dressed with the same jeans and a clean T-shirt. Neither man had allowed himself the luxury of a shave. When they were ready, they walked to the Main House for the evening meal.
As they entered, after leaving their shoes at the door, everyone stood and greeted them warmly. Ashan, the oldest member of the community, came ahead of the assembled company.
He walked with difficulty, at each step resting the weight of his frail body on a wooden stick, which he held firmly in his right hand. His white hair and his face, wrinkled like unfolded paper stretching across his forehead and cheeks, attested of his advanced years. His deep-set eyes were compassionate but inquisitive. His hands and forearms were striated like the branches of a tree, showing the painful onset of arthritis, which had mangled some of his fingers also. He wore a long beige thawb under a fine woven mishlah with a brown beaded chaplet around his neck. His allure was one of a wise and fatherly man, although he looked feeble and of diminished stature.
“Allah be praised for bringing you back safely in our midst, Monsieur Johan. And who is the stranger with you?” Ashan pointed the tip of his cane in Samir’s direction.
“This is Samir Shaykh Sahab, Ashan. He is the pilot who brought me back.”
At these words, Samir salaamed to the old man in a respectful gesture. “I’m grateful to Allah to have allowed me to come to your home, Ashan. I’m only a humble Touareg, and your oasis will bring me peace and rest at the end of this voyage.”
“It will, Samir Shaykh Sahab. Inshallah,” Ashan replied.
Johan inquired about each of the families in turn. Eventually, after much ado, every man squatted and sat down in circles on straw mats stretched across the cement floor. Johan and Samir were invited to sit across from Ashan in a circle of six men. There were three such circles in the room. They were mostly young men, rugged and muscular. They looked tired but relaxed at the end of a day’s work, and once seated, they began chatting among themselves and laughing, enjoying a well-deserved rest.
A few minutes after the men sat down, the women entered, carrying huge tin plates of rice, meat and sauces. The four of them wore a colourful cotton bodice with shoulder straps, and trimmed around the waist with a frilly, narrow skirt. Their hips and legs were wrapped with a piece of material of matching colour, which was tied in a knot at the waist. They were barefoot and treading carefully in rhythmic steps over the mats. They placed the trays on the floor in the middle of each of the circles of assembled guests. After being given a spoon, the men started to scoop the food that was facing them. The women then brought in water jugs to be passed around at the end of the meal. Everything was well cooked and very spicy. A bowl of ‘Pilli Pilli’ was also ready at hand; if anyone wanted to scorch his mouth, or burn his entrails.
Once the meal concluded, Johan was the first to bring the conversation back to the subject most prominent in his mind. “Ashan, if I may be allowed to ask, we would like to know where are the man and the woman that Monsieur Rasheed brought here a while ago.”
Ashen shifted uneasily on the cushion beneath him. “We all work for Monsieur Hjamal as you know, Monsieur Johan,” he began. “We all do what we’re told because when we do, we have food to give to our families. We work hard at the plant and we try to make the machines work. You know the problems we have. And you know we always try to fix them.”
“Yes. I know,” Johan answered with deference. “But what we came here to do is only to find the two guests that Monsieur Rasheed brought here a couple of weeks ago. Mamadou told us, when we arrived, that they’d been taken away in a truck this afternoon. He also told us that Monsieur Rasheed contacted the driver last night and gave that person specific instructions to have the two people released in such a way.”
The old man averted his eyes from Johan’s gaze. “Yes, Monsieur Johan, that’s what I’ve also been told. I believe this to be true. And I suppose Mamadou did what he was told.”
“The question is then: where could they be tonight?” Johan went on. “They must’ve stopped on the way. They couldn’t have driven all the way to Dakar in one afternoon.”
“They could’ve stopped at Tambacounda—that’s half way,” a younger man in the circle suggested.
“Yes, that’s a possibility, if they had no problems on the road. But I’d say they didn’t get that far.”
“If they’re gone back to Dakar,” Samir interrupted.
“What do you mean?” Johan sounded surprised at the suggestion.
“Look, last night Rasheed had no idea what would happen today. He had no way of knowing that he’d be sent here to fetch the two captives. Yet, after the meeting he had with Talya yesterday, he knew we were looking for them. He knew we were going to re-trace their steps and that we’d find them eventually, and he wanted no one to know what he’d done until he was satisfied they couldn’t tell their story if they were ever rescued.”
“I’m not sure I understand.” Johan looked at Samir quizzically.
Samir seemed to be reproving Johan’s interruption. “I think what happened then is this: he got in touch with one of his henchmen in the region. He probably asked him to come and take Monsieur Savoi and his niece, not to Dakar, but to Kenieba, the closest village across the Malian border. Mind you, that’s only a conjecture.”
“But what would be his motive?” Johan asked. “Why would Rasheed want to kill them? He needed them alive, until this morning at least, if he wanted to get Talya’s help.”
“True, but look at it this way. First, let’s assume that Hjamal didn’t know our friends were here. Then if Rasheed were to bring them back to Dakar, Hjamal would blame him for everything and wash his hands of it. With his contacts in government, Hjamal would make mincemeat of Rasheed. On the other hand, if our two friends were found, dead preferably, across the border, no one would have any proof they were ever at the mine in the first place, and Rasheed could tell Hjamal whatever he wanted. Hjamal would be powerless to prosecute him without implicating himself.”
“Maybe you’re right. And let’s assume you are, although it all sounds far fetched to me. We’ve got to be practical. What do you suggest we do now?”
“Let’s find the dog and get him to talk,” Samir said. “He should be able to give us the information we need and if I’m right I could fly to Kenieba in the morning. I know there is a long enough strip near that town for me to land. And maybe we could save the two people from their fate.”
Ashan, who had been listening intently to Samir’s exposé, spoke again. “Monsieur Samir, I can have Monsieur Rasheed brought in if you like? He gave me some money to stay at my daughter’s place for the night. We did not know he was a criminal.” He looked around searching for support amongst his people. No one moved. “He’s put a woman’s life in danger,” Ashan went on. “She’s a mother, I’ve been told, and I know some of the women in the village have brought food to her and tried to make her feel more comfortable. We don’t know why they were brought here. I had been told they were thieves and they’d been caught red-handed by Monsieur Hjamal. I really don’t know anymore than that.” He shook and bent his head down again.
“We appreciate your frankness, Ashen, and we thank you for your kindness toward the lady,” Johan said. “We will make sure that you and your people are not bothered by the authorities when these people are found.”
“Allah be praised for bringing you both here,” Ashen said, raising his cane at his side ready to get to his feet, “and now, shall we go and talk to Monsieur Rasheed?”
Johan lifted a hand. “Ashan, we’d prefer it, as you suggested in the first place, if some of your young men here would go and bring him back to face everyone.”
“As you wish then, Monsieur Johan. Malick, Saliou, you go and get Monsieur Rasheed.”
The Elder had designated two mountains, two mastodons to do the fetching. The man was wise.
A few minutes later Rasheed appeared, practically lifted off his feet by his two captors and carried over by the old man. Reluctantly, he sat down and glared at the assembled men. By the looks of him, he had had time to bathe and put on a clean shirt and trousers. He probably paid Ashan’s daughter for being allowed to use the water and get the fresh clothes.
Without preamble, Ashan began what promised to be a very interesting presentation, Samir thought.
“Monsieur Rasheed, you may not know this, but I’m the oldest man in this village and perhaps the oldest person alive in the region. So, I’m permitted to speak my mind at all times. I’ve been told that you may’ve had deplorable intentions toward the two people that were detained here for the past two or three weeks. One of my people has been instructed to release them in the care of a driver this afternoon. This thing we did in good faith. But we’ve learned tonight, that your driver may’ve been told not to take them to Dakar but to some other place. Now, I ask you, where did you instruct your driver to take them?”
Head bent almost between his knees, Rasheed did not move, did not speak. Saliou, who was standing behind him, kicked him in the kidneys so hard that the man’s forehead hit the ground. Thus humiliated once again, Rasheed raised himself a little, supporting his back with his hands at his side. He started groaning from pain and frustrated anger.
My God, thought Johan, the man is a total loss.
Samir was incensed. “Monsieur Rasheed, your conduct is an aberration. However, we’re not assembled here to listen to your grumblings. We want answers and one answer in particular: where are they, Rasheed?” he shouted at the ‘accused’ facing him.
Johan patted his arm. “Calm down, my friend.”
Samir shuddered and shot a resentful glance at Johan.
Rasheed groused under his breath, “I didn’t make the call.” Then louder, “I swear to you ... I did not make this call.” The words resounded and echoed throughout the room now filled with an oppressing silence that was only shattered by a baby’s cry in the distance.
“If it wasn’t you, Rasheed, who do you suppose made the call?” Johan questioned impatiently. “Who besides you has the power to give orders around here? Tell us that, Rasheed?”
The latter had stopped moaning. He was sitting cross-legged, looking at the men in the circle with defiance. “I don’t know,” he replied steadfastly.
“I don’t believe you,” Johan said. “You’re the only person who could have used the transmitter…”
“No,” Samir cut-in, “not a transmitter, Johan, a phone. That’s what Mamadou told us at the gate. The driver was not from this camp. He came to fetch them from outside so Rasheed could have called anyone in town to drive…”
“Sorry,” Johan interrupted, “but the driver would not have made the drive in a day—or he may have called yesterday….”
Samir pondered while the old man took his chaplet from around his neck and started graining it, looking troubled. Rasheed made snivelling noises, and in that familiar gesture, took his handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe his glasses.
“Let’s leave it until morning,” Samir suggested. “La nuit porte conseil….”
Nodding silently, the old man stood up, giving the signal the meeting was over. Johan bid good night to the Elder and retreated quietly. Samir followed. Both men walked to their hut in silence. Once they arrived, they filled the water jugs, made their beds with the linen that had been left untouched, undressed and lay down.


83
When Talya finally closed the door on Hassan, she sighed, shook her head and went to the bedroom to retrieve her journal. She had to put her thoughts in order. Writing them down was the only way she could make sense of this convoluted chain of events. She returned to the terrace, sat down and wrote:
Savoi leaves Bamako and comes to Dakar.
He meets with Hjamal, presumably to discuss his investments in the mining venture.
Rheza leaves Bamako to join Savoi in Dakar. Did she know her estate was slowly channelled into Hjamal’s account?
Rasheed ‘removes’ them and takes them to Sabodala, why?
What’s Rasheed’s goal in all of this? Why does he want to eliminate them?
What about the drugs? Richard was a drug addict. Was he a trafficker as well?
Where do the drugs come from—if there is trafficking involved?
Was that the reason for Richard being murdered—drugs?
Why so much nitro? What was Hjamal’s intention when he approved such a large order of explosive? Is Rasheed trafficking in explosives?
Why did Richard come back?
Why is Johan lying? What is he hiding? Why didn’t he tell me about Richard being a drug addict?

Talya reclined against the back of the lounge chair and read the list aloud, trying to find an answer to each of the questions. She chewed on the tip of her pen musingly, looking at the ocean stretching before her eyes. The afternoon was pleasant, and the evening promised to be quite cool in fact.
She closed the journal, went to the bedroom, replaced it in her bag and climbed on top of the covers of her bed. She curled up and within minutes, she was asleep.
She woke up a while later, nagging thoughts instantly returning at the forefront of her mind. She looked at the bedside clock: 5:00PM. They had heard nothing from Samir or Johan—but how would they reach me? The only transmitter was in Hjamal’s office. Would he have received a call? Would he call me if he did?
These questions—without answers—were beginning to get unnerving.
As Talya was about to step into the shower, the phone in the bathroom rang. “What the…” She picked up the receiver in a fluster and sat on the toilet.
The ambassador was on the line. Talya rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Sir Gillian! I—” For goodness sakes…Talya moaned, grabbing a towel from the rack beside her and flinging it over her shoulders. Talking to an ambassador in one’s birthday suit—even if only on the phone—could be quite intimidating.
“Ms. Kartz! At least you are all right. What happened?” He sounded relieved. “Obviously, there has been a change of plan. Why didn’t you call and advise me of your intentions? It wasn’t safe. When I heard you came with the Minorex plane, I was worried the worst had happened.”
“I’m terribly sorry to have thrown spanners in the works, Sir, but I couldn’t pass up the chance to meet face to face with Mr. Hjamal and Mr. Rasheed. As it is, I found out that Mr. Savoi and Mrs. McLean were in fact detained at the mine site as I suspected, and they should be on their way back to Dakar tomorrow.”
“Yes, and although you didn’t elaborate on their disappearance when we last spoke, I got the details from Mr. Flaubert.” James had talked. It’s just as well. “And, of course, I concluded that they too had been taken to Sabodala. But my point was, and still is, you shouldn’t have gone off on your own without someone escorting you, at least from the airport.”
“Again, I’m sorry but I wanted to give Mr. Hjamal the opportunity to show his hand. And indeed we succeeded in—”
“What do you mean we? Who’s we?”
“Mr. Fade and Maitre Sangor are both with me here.”
“I’m very relieved to hear that. At least you have some protection. But I’m sorry; did you say you succeeded, in what doing, Ms Kartz?”
“Yes…. After meeting with Mr. Hjamal this morning, Maitre Sangor went to his office, and uncovered some details regarding the ownership of Sabodala and the embezzlement of some funds from various sources. I’m sure Mr. Fade will be better able to discuss these matters with you if you permit him to meet with you tomorrow?”
“Yes of course, but what concerns me the most, are the answers you must have obtained during your meeting with Mr. Hjamal. Is he responsible for Mr. Gillman’s death, or do you know?”
“No he isn’t, not directly anyway.”
“You sound very definite on that point. What makes you so sure of your answer?”
“Simply this; the reasons Richard Gillman was killed are related only partly to Mr. Hjamal’s enterprises.”
“Could you be a bit more specific, perhaps?”
“I can’t right now. I don’t have all the answers myself yet.”
“Well, then we’ll leave it at that. And will you tell Mr. Fade, I’ll expect him in my office at ten tomorrow morning.”
“I’ll be sure to do that. I wish you a pleasant night, Sir.”
“To you as well, Ms Kartz ... and thank you.”

When Talya was about to turn off the shower taps, the phone rang again.
“For Heaven’s sake… Give me a break … you people,” Talya shouted, shutting off the water, wrapping a towel around her, and sitting down on the toilet once again!
“Talya?”
“Yes, Hassan!”
“What happened? You sound annoyed. Did anyone call?”
“Yes, someone called alright—the ambassador.”
“Oh, I see, and what did he have to say?”
“Nothing much, he just asked a lot of questions, that’s all.”
“And you didn’t have all the answers, did you?”
“No, I didn’t, but I will, don’t worry. Maybe when they come back….”
“Are you ready to go out for dinner?”
“Almost. If people would leave me alone to get in and out of the shower in peace, I would!”
“Talya!”
“Oh, I am sorry. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore. I’ve got too many questions and no answers … I can’t—”
“Will you stop worrying? As you said, we’ll know better when they come back.”
“Okay. I’ll be down by the Terrarium in a half-an-hour. Where are we going?”
“Mohammed thought we might try a restaurant by the Artisans’ Market. We could even do some shopping beforehand, if you like.”
“That’s sounds great. I need some clothes—”
“I thought you might.”
“Okay, I’ll see you soon.”
When Talya hung up, she got up and looked at her reflection in the mirror. You not only need clothes, but a complete makeover wouldn’t be a bad idea.
84
Samir had been staring at the ceiling for a while when he said, “I tell you, something is wrong. You can feel it, can’t you?”
“Yes, I feel very uneasy right now,” Johan replied. “I feel like the pawn in a child’s game. You know the way kids play? Throwing the ball from one to another and I’m in the middle trying to catch it. I see the ball, I run from one player to the other, hoping to discover in advance where he intends to throw the ball next. But, each time he deceives me by throwing it in the opposite direction. It’s hopeless.” Perhaps The Dutchman’s age had something to do with his often rambling recollections of his youth.
“I haven’t played that game or being the pawn as you call it,” Samir said, “but I agree with you we’re being deceived. What we see and what we hear are not truths.”
“So, what do we do?” They looked at each other.
“Let’s analyze the facts and see where they lead us,” Samir suggested.
“Well, we know Savoi and his niece are not here….”
“No. We do not know that, Johan. We’ve been told they’re not here. That’s different.”
“You’re right!” Johan lifted his head from the pillow. “We haven’t visited the camp or the mine to see for ourselves if they’re here or not.” He turned on his side to face Samir on the other bed. “Come to think of it, do you remember how Rasheed reacted when he was told these two were gone?”
“How could I forget? My elbow is still sore.”
“I’d say Rasheed is a good actor, but his reaction wasn’t faked, it was too darn real.”
“And after dinner, when Rasheed said he didn’t make the call, the old man became very uncommunicative, his face was troubled. As if he knew something and he couldn’t bring himself to tell anybody.”
For a moment, they stared at one another.
“Do you realize what we’re saying?” Samir was sitting now, looking down at Johan who still lay on his bed.
“Yes, I do. We’re implying that Ashan, and the villagers are hiding Savoi and Rheza somewhere here on site. That’s incredible”—Johan chuckled—“but not as incredible as your story of them being taken to Kenieba.”
“You think what ever you want, incredible or not, we’d agreed to look at the facts. And the facts tell us that Savoi and Madame McLean are still here—in this compound. Ashan wouldn’t do a thing like that unless he’d a lot to gain by doing it. He could’ve been bought or blackmailed. That’s probably why he was saying silent prayers at the end of the meeting, did you notice that? Only menaces would lead him on the path of dishonourable deeds.”
Instinctively, Samir wanted to protect the Elder’s good name. He only met him a few hours earlier but already a sense of respect for the man’s age and presence prevailed upon him.
“Let’s be practical, let’s make a plan of action for tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow morning!” Disbelief was written across the Touareg’s face. “You can’t mean that. We need to act tonight. When morning will be upon us, it will be too late. If those two are still alive and hidden somewhere in the camp, we’ve got to find them tonight,” he insisted. “Otherwise they’ll be dead by sunrise.”
Johan wasn’t sure. Let’s say he was hoping the Touareg could be wrong. “You really think so?”
“How can you even doubt it? After all we’ve heard; it stands to reason. There are too many people involved, implicated and afraid of the consequences to let them live through the night.”
“Oh well, there goes another sleepless night.” Johan was obviously trying to ease the tension he could sense was growing between them. “Did you bring torches?”
“Yes, I did. But before we go searching the grounds aimlessly, perhaps we should try to think of where would be the most likely place for them to hide two people.”
“There are the huts, but we can’t very well go and knock on everyone’s door and ask to search the place, can we?” Johan chuckled again.
“Don’t be so flippant about this, please. This isn’t your child’s game.”
“Let me tell you something, Samir, I take this whole affair very seriously. I just wanted to make it easier for us to face what ever we’ll have to do tonight.”
Samir ignored the comment and kept on foraging through his bag in search of the torches.
“Perhaps we should look in places where no one would dare go during the night. Or, better yet, we should ‘follow the prospector to his claim’.”
Samir was still crouched over his unpacked bag, sorting through his belongings. “What do you mean?” He lifted his head in Johan’s direction.
“If what you say is true, our lascars are going to kill our two friends during the night. So, instead of looking at every possible hiding place, we should just wait for them to make a move and let them guide us to it.”
“Excellent, excellent—if we’re not too late.” Samir got up.
“You’re a pessimist, you know that?”
The Touareg couldn’t help but smile at the remark.
Having made up their minds and planned their sortie very carefully, Johan and Samir got dressed in dark clothing; their hands gloved—working gloves that Johan always carried in his bag—and heads well covered, so they’d be one with the shadows of darkness, and the mosquitoes wouldn’t have a feast on any bare skin while they lay in wait for their prey.
They had chosen a spot from where they could observe any one going in any direction from the campsite. As they were about to doze off beneath a tree, hushed voices, whispers and footfalls approaching rapidly, startled them. Two people passed them only a few meters away. They were heading in the direction of the plant. They watched them until they were a fair distance ahead. Then, they started following the two figures, stealthily making their way up the hillside, their footing sure, noiseless and cautious—like felines. As they climbed toward the lane-way Samir had observed earlier that day while circling over the hills, the brush cover became sparser. They had to be careful not to be seen or heard. The moon was out, shining like a globe over their quest, which made the use of torches redundant. Johan soon realized where they were heading. He came closer to Samir and whispered in his ear, “They’re going to the nitro-cache.”
The Touareg turned with a jerk toward his companion, his face deeply stroked with the marks of fear. “What do you mean the ‘nitro-cache’?”
“You know. That’s the container with the explosives.”
“That’s what I thought you said.”
“If they are keeping our friends there we can’t use any fire power.”
“You mean ... you’ve brought a gun?”
“Of course!”
Samir swore under his breath. “There was no need…”
“Samir—”
“Hush. I’ve brought what we’ll need. It can be used in silence. Not like your gun.” The Touareg smiled.
“I should’ve known. You’ve got a knife on you, haven’t you?”
Samir didn’t reply; he just lifted his pant-leg to reveal a shining blade fitted in a harness against his skin.
Johan grunted. “My God! Who do you intend to gouge with this baby?”
“Anyone or anything the devil would put across my path.”
“Well, now that we know each other’s weakness for a particular weapon…”
“Weakness? I don’t think you should call carrying a knife a ‘weakness’…”
Their impromptu conversation was cut short by the sound of voices. They didn’t understand what was said but they sensed the urgency in the words they heard.
The nitro-glycerine was stored in a shipping container, left as it stood at the end of the lane-way on the hillside. The nitro, Johan knew, was already ‘sweating’ and the least disturbance would send the whole lot sky high. Both men wondered if they were to see morning alive. They had wanted to save Savoi and Rheza but they had no desire to die trying. They remained lying on the ground, their thoughts filled with horror, hanging every hope on every breath; every sound, every move seemed impossible, forbidden.
“Do you think we should try reaching our two would-be assassins before they get to the container?” Samir whispered.
“If it isn’t too late ... I’m going ...” And, suddenly matching actions to words, Johan started running up, and then down the hill, yelling, dancing, singing—making an utter fool of himself.
Samir was stunned. For a moment, he couldn’t understand what Johan was doing, or why he was doing it. Of course, he wants to get them to change direction, to pay attention to him, to have them chase him down the hill, away from the container. Much against the impulse to follow Johan in his tracks, he stayed hidden and immobile. He watched The Dutchman carrying on with his drunken dance, slowly going down toward safety. As expected, the two figures chased after him. When they were almost out of sight, Samir got up and very quickly, reached the container where he found what they had been seeking.
Both bodies lay side-by-side, seemingly asleep. They were tied up with leather straps and ropes hooked on the side-door of the container. Their faces were blistered with dark patches. Amid the shadows of night, they looked like discarded dummies from the last horror show. Quietly and gently, Samir took each of their wrists in turn, feeling for a pulse. They were still alive. He shook his head. They’ve been drugged. He then pulled his knife out of its hiding place. The blade shone under the eerie rays of the moonlight slicing through bushes and trees across the lane. He went to Rheza first and slid the straps that tied her wrists above her head. He knelt beside her. He lowered her arms at her side and caressed her face. “How could anyone hurt such a beautiful woman?” he muttered. Since there was no water anywhere near, Samir took his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the dirt off her cheeks and neck. Her red gown was torn and ripped at the side. Her left ankle was swollen out of proportion. Probably sprained or broken. Her gold-laced shawl was wrapped awkwardly around her shoulders and neck. Her hair was matted with red muddy patches. She looked as she’d been beaten as well. When Samir carefully pulled the shawl away he saw the dried blood on her upper arms. Anger and sheer disgust crept up Samir’s spine until he shuddered, rose slowly and spat in the direction of Rheza’s companion, Savoi.
Yes, that man who was ultimately responsible for his niece’s torture was lying beside her, inert and injured. He deserved every bit of the beating he had suffered and all of the bruising Samir noticed on his face. This man, with a podgy face, moustache, thick lips and bulky, fatty stomach protruding from his body as he lay on his back, was a nauseating sight. The Touareg still had the knife in his hand. He was looking at Savoi. His feelings toward the repulsive figure were full of rage and revenge. He wanted to cut Savoi’s throat from one ear to the other.
He turned away and for a moment raised his head to the sky. He silently asked Allah for strength. He didn’t want to succumb to the evil desires that filled his being. He wanted to have Allah’s help not to raise the knife to Savoi. All at once, as if given an order from above, Samir went and cut the ropes tied around Savoi’s wrists. He replaced the knife in the sheath under his pant leg and attended to the man on the ground quickly. His face was patchy with crusted wounds, his lips had been cut and one eyelid was puffy and darkened. His clothes were soiled with large stains of perspiration and dirt. His shirt, opened to the waist, revealed Savoi’s fat, bruised and scraped belly. His trousers had holes at the knees and were frayed to the ankles as if the man had been dragged a long way on his stomach. Samir covered it, buttoning his shirt, and with his handkerchief, he wiped the saliva from the side of his mouth. He then squatted beside Rheza, his head between his knees and waited. He was spent.
85
Since he had found Talya comfortably ensconced at the Meridien, Sir Gillian decided to call James again.
“Hello?”
“Is that James Flaubert’s residence?”
“No. I am Louis Daniel. Who am I speaking to?”
“Oh, I was looking for Mr. Flaubert. I am Sir Gillian Faulkner.”
“Sir Gillian. I am James’s partner. I am sorry, but James’s business lines have been forwarded to my home.”
“I see. In that case could you tell me when he will be available?”
“I am afraid not. He has left a couple of hours ago. He is heading your way, I believe.”
“You mean he is coming down to Dakar?”
“Yes. He caught a flight to Seattle and should be arriving in Dakar tomorrow night your time, I suspect. Do you have any news?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. We found Ms Kartz—she is safe.”
“That’s very good news. I am very pleased to hear it. But, tell me, what happened?”
“Oh, that’s a long story, and I won’t bore you with the details. Let’s just say that she accepted an invitation from Mr. Hjamal, and made her way to Dakar on Saturday, aboard his personal aircraft.”
“I see.” Louis didn’t want to make any comments. Once again, Talya had taken the reins of the situation, and put herself in danger. She is incorrigible.
“I suppose James is going to contact me as soon as he arrives. Or do you know his arrival time?”
“Yes, he’s bound to contact you upon landing. I think he said he would take an Air Afrique flight from New York.”
“Oh that’s good—there’s only one flight out of New York on Mondays. I’ll be at the airport.”
“Thank you, Sir ... for everything.”
“Not at all, Mr. Daniel, not at all.”
86
Johan, who had attracted much attention with his drunken behaviour, ran along the hillside until he and his two followers were far enough from the container. He then came to an abrupt halt, turned and pointed the gun in the direction of his pursuers. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw the gun barrel.
“Ha-ha, I’ve got you, haven’t I?—you miserable sons of a bitch. Let me see now—Malick and Saliou isn’t it?”
The two big men were stunned and stood frozen on the spot. There wasn’t much light for Johan to see their faces clearly but he noticed immediately that Saliou carried some sort of baton, or heavy stick in one hand, and Malick had a machete in his. Johan knew he had to be extremely careful. Malick looked like he was ready for action. That machete could be swung at Johan’s head before he had time to pull the trigger.
Malick said, “Monsieur Johan, what you’re doing? We thought you’re drunk and we came to get you back to camp.” Saliou nodded.
“Well, gentlemen, as you can see, I’m not drunk…,” he guffawed. “Far from it in fact. Mind you I’d much prefer to be drunk right now.”
“But we’re on our rounds, we did nothing wrong…,” Saliou began.
“Since when are you people going ‘on rounds’?” Johan snapped. “Don’t start with me and your stories … I’ve heard enough…”
“But, Monsieur Johan, we’re only workers … you don’t have to point a gun…”
“If you think I’m in a mood to listen to you bastards, you’ve got another thing coming,” Johan said, all the while still pointing the gun from one to the other.
“We go back to camp—” Malick took a step back. Johan advanced a step.
“Oh no you don’t—neither of you. You’re going with me to the nitro-cache—”
“No, Monsieur Johan, we don’t want to go there,” Saliou pleaded.
“Oh yes you are, and Malick, just throw the machete away ... now!” Johan ordered. Malick hesitated. Johan came closer and repeated, “Throw the machete away, Malick, or I’ll fire.”
Saliou shook his head but threw his stick in the nearby bush. Malick still didn’t move. Johan came even closer. He could see the man’s eyes now. “Malick, don’t make me pull the trigger and bring shame to your family.” He waited.
Slowly, Malick hung his head and let the machete fall to the ground.
Johan shoved it in the underbrush, still keeping his gun at the men’s heads. “Okay now that we’ve got that out of the way, let’s go up to the container and see what we’re going to find there….”
“But, why can’t we go back to camp?” Saliou insisted.
“Just because your job’s not done for the night, boys. Let’s go.”
The two captives turned and started walking toward the lane-way. Johan knew if either or both of them would get the idea to start running, he wouldn’t be able to catch either, or fire his gun without alerting the camp—or worse blow the whole darn mine site to the moon. Nonetheless, he kept an eye on their feet—that’s where he would shoot first if he saw their steps change pace. The three men marched in silence toward the container.


87
The noises from below grew nearer. Johan’s voice was no longer the one of a drunkard but one of a ‘master’. He was ordering the two captives up the hill, gun in hand aimed at their backs. Soon they came into view.
“Yo-ho, Samir, look who I found chasing me?” Johan called out as he approached Samir’s location. “Malick and Saliou. Oh yes, my friend, the very same two guards who were supposed to watch over Monsieur Rasheed. What d’you think of that, eh?”
“I see,” Samir said simply. “The only thing they deserve is the same treatment as what they inflicted on our friends here,” pointing to Savoi and Rheza lying on the ground beside the open container.
Johan looked down at them, still keeping an eye on his prisoners, and groaned. He was angry. “We’ve got to get this two to the camp as soon as possible. They need care.”
“But how do you propose to do that?”
“Simple, my friend, watch…”
Samir watched.
With much arms waving and gesticulating but very few words, The Dutchman directed Malick and Saliou to take Savoi and Rheza and carefully carry them down the lane-way and up to the camp.
Samir followed them, lost in thought.
How was this going to end? He thought of Talya. Silently tears rolled down his cheeks, he was overwhelmed with emotions. Quickly he wiped his face with his shirtsleeve. He wanted no one to notice his private turmoil.
Back in their hut, Samir washed the dirt and dried blood from Rheza’s face. He was appalled by the wounds inflicted onto this woman. The outrage he felt was very real. He wanted to go and kill the two men who had maltreated her.
Johan, for his part, was attending to Savoi. The latter was in a sad shape. Johan felt resentment and rage toward many people, but none so bitter than what he felt toward the man lying on the floor beside his bed now. If it hadn’t been for this idiot, none of this would’ve happened. He turned to Samir. “We’ve got two prisoners tied up outside”—his voice was breaking up— “two very sick people to care for and a village full of people we can no longer trust. What do you suggest we do now?”
“We go and see the Elder in the morning and tell him what’s happened. I still believe he doesn’t know the extent of the treachery that occurred in his village. I want to believe that he’ll help us.” Samir tried to sound as re-assuring as he could.
“That’s just it. You want to believe. But how can we trust him? Tell me that? If this situation threatens his well being or his honour (and I’d say that it does) we could be joining those two”—Johan pointed to Savoi and Rheza lying on the floor—“and be blown up by morning.” He was getting edgier by the minute.
“Don’t underestimate the old man’s faith in Allah, Johan. He couldn’t live safely and remain Chief of this village if he committed murder. If I’m right, and Ashan is the faithful one and a disciple of Allah’s law, we’ve got nothing to fear from him. On the contrary, we’re safer in his trust than alone and against him.”
Johan relented. “Okay then. I’m willing to try; I’ll try anything at this point.”
“Inshallah. I know Allah is with us, Johan, and he’ll watch over us. You’ll see.” Samir breathed a sigh of relief. “We should sleep for a couple of hours then at sunrise, we go directly to the old man. When we tell him we’ve discovered two of his men with intent of murder in their hearts, I’m sure he’ll react appropriately.”
“Appropriately! Samir, I don’t know why you haven’t entered the political life yet. You’ve got a knack for saying everything and nothing with one single word: ‘appropriately’—for whom?”
“There you go again. I’m not happy with your flippancy.”
“Hold on a minute, I’m not sure you understand me. I’m very serious, and I value your comments—I’m not sneering. If I offended you, I’m sorry.”
“I guess this night’s been too long for us and we’re very edgy. We should sleep.”
Without another word, Samir went to wash his face, knelt on his mat and prayed. Johan watched him and lay on his bed only to fall immediately asleep.

At sunrise, Samir was standing beside Johan’s bed, staring down at this friend. Strange circumstances had made the friendship happen. Samir knew that from now on the two of them would be ‘brothers’—he would hope anyway. He had washed when everyone was still asleep and put on his uniform once again.
As if Samir had willed him to wake, Johan opened his eyes and looked at the man standing over him. He didn’t readily recall where he was or what day it was. He got up with a jolt, shoved Samir aside, and muttering some unintelligible greeting went to the bathroom corner to freshen up and change his clothes. Savoi and Rheza, who lay on mats in the middle of the room, had moved in the night, probably regaining consciousness slowly, they were asleep now. Samir, who had watched them for sometime, knew that they would wake soon.
Rheza stirred. She opened her eyes. She turned, looked around and sat up slowly. Samir stood towering over her. “Good morning, Madame McLean. I’m Samir Shaykh Sahab, a friend of Madame Kartz.”
“May…, may I have some water, please?” she said, shading her eyes with her hand. The light from the windows was blinding her.
In a moment, Samir went and returned to her side to give her a bowl of fresh water. After sipping a little of the cold liquid she looked at her uncle who was still sleeping at her side.
“Can we go home now?”
Samir was surprised by Rheza’s simple request but made no comments, only to say, “Yes of course, we may. And we shall in a little while.”
Then Samir squatted beside Savoi and shook his shoulder. The man grunted. He too opened his eyes and with some effort managed to raise himself on his elbows.
“Where are we? Who are you? Give me some water. I want to go—” Samir pushed Savoi back on his behind as he tried to stand up.
“Top of the morning, Monsieur Savoi. Here is some water courtesy of Madame Kartz,” Samir said. Rheza handed Savoi the bowl she had been holding.
“Where is she?” Savoi shouted, grabbing the bowl away from his niece’s hand and drinking the content dry. “I need to talk to her. I want…”
“Monsieur Savoi, you are going to stay where you are and be quiet,” Johan said, speaking from the doorway where he had been standing watching the scene. He was disgusted with the man’s ignorance and arrogant attitude. He was about to say something else, but thought better of it and walked out—probably to check on Malick and Saliou who were tied up in the cooking shed behind the house. Johan had gagged them as well so they wouldn’t alert the neighbourhood during the night.
A few moments later, Rheza turned to the bed beside her, and supporting her weight with her hands, she pushed herself up from the floor. She looked down at what had become of her apparel and began crying quietly. With Samir’s help, she went outside to attend to her morning ablutions. When she was done, she took a few steps between the huts as if to hide from intruding observers.
No one was astir yet. The camp was still silent and unaware of the ordeal that had evolved during the night. The only sound, which could be heard in the distance, was that of the Imam calling people to prayer. Rheza turned toward the sun rising above the horizon in the eastern sky and knelt in prayer to her God. Samir watched her and he too knelt beside her thanking Allah for saving their lives.
Savoi was rummaging through the hut when the trio came back.
“Look at me, I’m a mess. You people have treated me like a dog. And, why was I treated like that? I ask you. Why?”
Samir took a couple of steps toward the offender. His eyes were ablaze with anger. Rheza hopped on one foot, hung onto Samir’s arm and came to stand between the two men to prevent the start of yet another onslaught of beating on her uncle. “Uncle, please. We’re safe. We’re going home. You should be grateful to these men. If they hadn’t found us when they did, we’d be dead this morning.”
“I’m not grateful to anyone for anything at the moment,” Savoi replied, pushing his niece aside.
Johan pulled Samir back somewhat roughly and both men went out. The Touareg was seething. He wanted to kill the man he had saved. He regretted not to have used the knife on him when he had the opportunity.
After a few scolding words from Johan, Samir seemed to regain control.
They marched in silence to Ashan’s hut. The Elder was outside finishing his prayer. Supporting his weight on his cane, he rose to his feet and looked in the direction of the two men. He greeted their arrival with a smile. His face still showed signs of sleep, unwanted tears pearling at the corners of his eyes.
Samir spoke first. “Ashan, good morning. Have you slept well?”
“Good Morning, Ashan,” Johan said.
“Samir, Monsieur Johan.” The Elder looked in the eyes of both men. “And yes, Samir, I’ve slept well until I heard people move about during the night. When you get old you don’t sleep soundly and I was awakened by the noise.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but we were the ones who made the noise you’ve heard,” Samir said, nodding in Johan’s direction as he did. The latter bowed his head a little embarrassed.
“You? Why would you two go about the camp during the night like thieves?” the Elder inquired, raising his eyebrows, a quizzical look in his eyes.
Samir then recounted the events of the night and came to the point very quickly. Ashan listened intently to Samir’s tale, and leaning with both hands on his cane, he looked from one to the other. He made no remarks, comments and showed no sign of aggressiveness. He simply stood there and snorted.
After a moment, he said, “I knew the day would come when Allah would make me accountable for my people’s mistakes (and mine). This day has come. Monsieur Johan, Samir, I’m sorry. I will take care of Malick and Saliou. And now if you will do me the favour to leave quickly before my people awake, I would be grateful.”
“I’m afraid we can’t do that,” Samir said gently. “You are not a criminal but we believe Monsieur Rasheed is. You were forced to help him in his misdeeds. Monsieur Rasheed abused of your goodness and of the circumstances. He corrupted your people and he will continue to do so, if we don’t stop him. We must call the police commissioner on your radio. Then, we will go.”
The old man seemed resigned to his fate.
Johan said nothing. He had his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground like a child waiting for the inevitable scolding.
“We will tell the commissioner,” Samir went on, “and we will tell him about the explosives in the container, so he can alert the proper authorities to have all that evil removed from the village and safeguard the lives of everyone here.”
Stringing his chaplet, the old man looked at the street stretching in front of him. At that moment, he appeared to be a man who had been struck by a deep sense of guilt.
“Yes. That is what we should do.” Ashan wiped the unwanted tears from his cheeks. “I can see now you have wanted to do the right thing from the beginning. May Allah be with you and be merciful to us always.”
88
It was already one o’clock when Samir was once again sitting in the cockpit of his aircraft.
What he had done in the past twenty-four hours could not be compared to anything he had ever done in his lifetime. He needed to clear his mind. He wanted to talk to Talya—a woman held in the clutches of his friend. How could he even approach her now? He knew where Hassan was heading.
In the past, Samir had known Hassan to use wealthy women for his personal or career advancement. He was extremely jealous and while he was courting his prey, he wouldn’t let anyone approach her. Once he was finished with her, he would step out of the ring and shine by his absence, leaving the lady to drown in despair and shame. Samir knew however, that Talya wasn’t a rich widow or a beautiful heiress, but she had the one thing Hassan had always coveted—a ticket to freedom. She would have the power to take him away from Mali, even if the two were not to marry, and that, Samir could not accept. He was not going to let it happen.
89
The sun was already high above the horizon when Talya woke up. The apartment sounded empty. Where did Hassan go last night? Talya wondered as she pulled herself out of bed.
They had supper at the terrace restaurant and talked endlessly about business, politics, and relations between Mali and other developing countries. Hassan had left unexpectedly in a middle of one of Mohammed stories. He said he would be back, but never did. Mohammed accompanied Talya to her apartment, bid her goodnight, and Talya closed the door on him wondering what had happened to Hassan. She shrugged and decided to hit the pillow soon afterwards.
She went to the spa bath, opened the water tap and started brushing her teeth. Suddenly the radio blared from the bedroom. The reporter was saying something about Sabodala. With a shudder, and a mouth full of toothpaste, she was brought back from her roaming thoughts. She rushed only to catch the end of the report: “...the injured people are to be flown back to Dakar in a private plane belonging to Samir Shaykh Sahab. The aircraft is landing at the airport this afternoon. No arrest is expected…”
The phone rang. She ran back to the bathroom, rinsed her mouth, turned off the water, picked up the receiver, and sat on the toilet—again!
“Talya?”
“Hassan! Did you hear…? Why didn’t you come back…?”
“Good morning, Talya. Did you sleep well?” He had a smile in his voice.
“Good morning. And yes, I slept well, thank you,” Talya replied. “But, my question was: why didn’t you come back last night?”
“I’ll tell you later.”
“Did you perhaps go and visit one of Dakar’s floozies?”
“Talya!” No need to sound so shocked—you, my friend, have something to hide.
Talya remained silent. She wanted an answer. Unfortunately, she was not about to get one.
“Okay, okay I’m sorry. I won’t leave you again then. By the way, may I come back right now?”
“Give me a few minutes to take a shower…”
“I take that as a yes?”
“Do you want it in writing, notarized, and delivered by porter, perhaps?”
“All right, don’t tease. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
Talya hung up. Where did he go?
Not even twenty minutes had elapsed when Hassan knocked on Talya’s door. Lifting her eyes to the ceiling, she opened the door and invited him in. Not quite dressed, and still in her bathrobe, Hassan took Talya in his arms as the door closed behind him. She felt rigid in his embrace, and instantly, he released her. He looked at her curiously. As a Muslim fellow, Hassan found it puzzling that a woman would question his movements. He had never experienced a woman’s third degree before, and it began to annoy him. He wanted to keep some things hidden—quite benign things, really—and suddenly he realized that Talya would not tolerate this habit. They sat down on the sofa, Hassan peering into Talya’s eyes.
“Well, are you going to tell me where you went last night?” She was holding Hassan’s gaze.
“I will tell you later,” he repeated. “Actually, I’ll show you.”
“Why?”
“Don’t insist, Talya. I can be as stubborn as you can,” he said, smiling, and squeezing Talya’s hand. “Did you hear the news this morning?”
Oh, what the heck, I’m not going to get an answer for now, so why bother?
She took her hand away from Hassan’s and shrugged. “Just the end of a report, saying Samir was bringing back injured people and he would land sometime this afternoon.”
“Yes. That was almost all there was. I’ve heard also that the authorities were called on the scene to assess the situation. They’ve discovered an opened container filled with packs of nitro-glycerine. They evacuated the mining village and contacted Hjamal in Dakar.”
“I suppose we’ll know the rest when they come back. Did they mention anything about Rasheed?” For some reason Talya was anxious to know what had become of him.
“No, nothing. Apart for Samir’s no one else’s name was mentioned.”
“Okay, so, what’s on the agenda? Oh, did you tell Mohammed about his appointment at the embassy?”
“Yes, don’t worry. He’s going to take care of it.”
“And what do we do now?” Talya was impatient to get out of the hotel.
“We? We, my dear Talya, we will go to the airport this afternoon to be there when Samir lands. That’ll give us a chance to hear everything there is to know first hand, if we manage to talk to him before the police takes him away for questioning.”
“What do you mean questioning? Samir is only our pilot. He couldn’t be involved in—”
“He’s a witness,” Hassan interrupted. “We sent him on an errand and he comes back with injured parties aboard his aircraft. Of course, he’ll be questioned. And, I expect, so will we.”
“But can’t the police do all that in the morning?”
“Maybe, we’ll see. Now, I think you better get dressed. Although, I’d say you look good in that bathrobe.” He smiled. “And maybe we could go to Les Almadies and have lunch with Mohammed, if you like?” Talya grinned at imagining herself in a bathrobe at the restaurant.
“What’s funny?” Hassan raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing, nothing, I’ll get dressed and you stay right there. Don’t go away now, okay?”
Talya heard him laugh as she trotted to the bedroom to get dressed. She chose a black skirt and beige and black pattern top that she bought the day before on their way to town. It looks very smart. Yet, when she came out of the bedroom, Hassan had other ideas.
“Black now? Who’s dead? Or are you my widow already?”
“Hassan! I thought you liked it. You said you did when we bought it yesterday?”
“I did, and I do ... but don’t you think black is a bit too dark ... I don’t know?”
“Dark?” Talya looked down at her dress. “But, Hassan…” She retraced her steps to the bathroom to find the mirror that never lied. Silently she asked what it thought. It replied, “You look just fine—don’t start listening to him.” Talya went back to the living room, and stood in front of her smiling lawyer. “You just have to grin and bear it. I like it and I’m not changing.”
“All right, I know when I’m losing a case.” He grinned.
While Talya was dressing, Hassan had phoned Mohammed (he was on his way to meet Sir Gillian). They had agreed they would go to the restaurant in separate cars that they had rented the day before. Hassan said that they would meet him there at noon or so.
When she heard of the arrangements, Talya had to ask, “And, what are we going to do between now and noon, may I ask?”
“You can ask all you want, but you’re not getting an answer until we get there.”
“And where is there?” she insisted.
“You’ll find out soon enough. And don’t you say ‘but’ now….” Hassan smiled while leading Talya by the arm out of the apartment.

Talya was glad she had worn sandals because the ‘where’ was on Yoff’s beach.
“This is where I came last night.” They were walking down to the sea. “I thought you’d like to see where Richard died before you tell me who killed him.”
“I see….” Talya watched her steps. Why didn’t he tell me, this is where he went? “How can I tell you that, when I don’t know myself?”
Hassan stopped and turned to her. “Talya, you know the answer as well as I do, just tell me I’m right. Rasheed killed Richard, didn’t he?”
“I don’t know. It seems that way, but—”
Hassan lifted his head to the sky. “Please, Allah, tell this woman for me that I don’t want to hear any ‘buts’ right now.”
“You’ve got to hear me out. There are so many things, which tell me you’re right, but they’re too many pieces that won’t fit in if I were to agree with you.”
“Let’s go to where Richard was found, and then you can tell me what all those things that don’t fit in are.”
He took her by the hand, and they walked on until they arrived at a spot, about mid way between where they had left the car and a fishing cove, from where they could see pirogues lying upside down on the sand.
“Now look, there are only two ways to access this beach.” Hassan pointed to both opening in turn. “One is from where we came in and the other is from the fishing cove.”
Dunes and rocks surrounded the beach, which would have been extremely difficult to climb, especially at night.
“Is anyone staying in the cove at night?” Talya asked.
“No, not usually, and not until four or five in the morning, when the fishermen arrive.”
“So, who ever came to meet Richard could have come from either direction?”
“Yes, that’s right. He could’ve come from the road to the beach and left his car where we did or he could’ve gone down to the fishing market behind the cove and park his car there. Either way he could’ve hidden among the rocks waiting for Richard to arrive or he could’ve arrived after Richard was already on the beach.”
“I think Richard was here ahead of his assailant somehow. I don’t know why I think that, but that’s seems to be the way he would do things. In his letter he always appeared to take action and suffer the consequences afterwards.”
“Yes, I guess, that’s a good way to read him. So what do you think now?”
“I think we have to find out why he came here and why he came back to Senegal in the first place, before we could find out for sure if Rasheed killed him.”
“Why are you so hesitant to point the finger at Rasheed, that’s what I’d like to know?”
“Well, there is the fact that Richard never spoke of the nitro to anyone—not even in his letter, and…”
“Yes, that’s right. I never thought about that,” Hassan said with a frown coming across his brow.
“And the other thing is what Hjamal told me—”
“Are you going to drag him and your meeting with him into this again?”
“Yes I am. Just listen to me. Hjamal said that Richard used drugs—”
“And you believed him?”
“Yes I did. It made a lot of sense. Not only do I think he was a drug user, but I think he may have been involved in trafficking. When you look at the connection between the players, you have to conclude that there was more to it than a mining venture linking these people. You know, when I first read Richard’s letter I had the impression of taking a virtual tour of a story. It felt unreal. Not only had that, but his description of the escape attempts seemed unjustified somehow. Here is a young ex-pat. He is on assignment. His company, according to him, turns a blind eye to his renewed calls for assistance—what does that tell you? It says that there was more to Richard’s story than he was willing to reveal. What’s more, as I said, he didn’t mention anything about the nitro-glycerine—no one would ignore such an item if one wanted to point the finger to his tormentor.”
“I guess I’ll have to read the letter again.”
Hassan sat in the sand—Talya beside him—and they watched the waves dying before them. The wind was gusty but the air was warm and caressing. She thought about Richard. Talya didn’t even know him when he was alive and now, she felt she knew him better than anyone did in death. They stayed lost in thought for a long time—when suddenly Talya remembered the time.
“Don’t you think we should go now…? The answer isn’t here you know,” she said in Hassan’s hear.
“Yes, I think we should.” Hassan got to his feet first and helped Talya up to and off hers. He held her tight in his arms and swirled her around, laughing, as if she were as light as a puppet. Let this moment last a lifetime… she wished.
90
They arrived at the restaurant ten minutes late. Mohammed was already sitting at the same table he and Talya had occupied the day before, which seemed eons ago.
Talya strode toward the table. “Hi, Mohammed, how are you?”
“Hello, my friend. What are you doing here so early?” Hassan asked.
Mohammed ignored him and turned to Talya. “Good afternoon, Talya. Please come and join me ... and let this ingrate eat at another table!” He waved a dismissive hand in Hassan’s direction.
Hassan grinned and sat beside his friend.
Talya took the seat across from them. “So, you’ve heard the news. They’re all coming back, aren’t they?”
“Yes, they are. I went to the mosque this morning when I first heard the report. I gave thanks to Allah for all of us. And then, I went to see the ambassador—”
“And what did he have to add, anything interesting?” Talya asked.
“Well, not much. He was pleased that everyone was okay but he still needs answers. You’ve got to go and see him tomorrow if you can.”
Hassan unfolded his napkin and draped it over his lap. “Don’t you think it’s a bit too soon to ask for a report from Talya now when people are only coming back this afternoon?”
“Yes, I think so too. But he’s like a general ordering an officer. You’ve heard him? When he wants answers he wants them yesterday.”
“Well, he’s going to have to wait won’t he?” Talya said. “And that until I have the answers myself.”
“That’s what I said, and so we’ve agreed that I’d call him to arrange an appointment as soon as you’re in a position to make your report.”
“That’s good. Now people, I’m hungry so let’s order some fish shall we?” Hassan seemed impatient.
He ordered some grilled fish, potatoes and salad for the three of them. No rice this time, Talya was surprised to see.
The lady, who brought the meal, was a stout, cheerful woman. “I’m the cook, and the fish is very fresh,” she declared, lowering a huge tin plate onto a side table. “They’re ‘captains’ today. My husband caught them this morning and I’ve grilled them myself.” She wiped her hands on a towel, which hung from her waistband. “Enjoy your lunch,” she added, departing with a dancing step toward the kitchen.
“Thank you,” Mohammed said over his shoulder.
Talya looked at the two fish and wondered how she was going to tackle the beasts without making a mess of everything. Being the only woman at the table, she was supposed to serve the men. At seeing her embarrassment, Mohammed offered to do the job. He dexterously scaled the captains and served a large piece on each plate. Talya took care of the bowl of potatoes—that was easy enough.
“By the way, Talya, do you know how to cook?” Hassan asked when she had a mouthful of potatoes. His timing was always off a beat or two.
She swallowed. “Me? I don’t know what you understand by cooking. Because if you expect me to stand at the kitchen counter and in front of a stove for hours in order to serve you a meal, then I definitely do not know how to cook.” Both men burst out in loud laughter—she continued eating her fish and potatoes.
“That’s telling him. Don’t let him fool you, Talya. Hassan loves to be spoiled. I agree with you. If you don’t start, you don’t have to do it at all.”
“That’s good. I’ll have to remember that, when James asks me to do something. If I don’t start it I won’t have to do it at all—very good indeed.”
They all chuckled.
91
As they arrived at the rear of the hangars, they saw two police cars stationed by the gate. Mohammed parked his vehicle into the private airport ahead of them, away from the hangars. Hassan drove into a space closer to the gate.
“Just follow me,” he said to Talya, as he closed the car door behind her. “Don’t open your mouth, I beg of you. If these officers recognized you, they wouldn’t hesitate to take you to the station if they felt like it.”
At that moment, to say that Talya felt quite uncomfortable, and out of her depth, would have been an understatement. She walked silently beside Hassan. He held her hand tightly. They went to stand beside Mohammed who had waved to them as they were approaching.
Two police officers emerged from the arrival’s lounge as Samir’s plane was rolling down the runway. They shot a quick glance in the three companion’s direction but said nothing. As the aircraft came to a standstill in front of the hangar, Talya felt apprehensive, and extremely sad.
She saw Samir open the cabin’s door, and with Johan’s help, lower the stairwell. As they returned into the aircraft, another answer flashed before her eyes. Why didn’t I see this before?
The first person Talya saw come down the steps was Rheza. She had difficulty stepping down, and when she reached the ground, she began walking with a limp. She hid her eyes with the tip of the scarf that surrounded her head. Talya couldn’t help but noticing her wrists. They were bruised and scarred. Rheza began to cry when she saw Talya. Mohammed went to her, embraced her, and supported her to walk to stand near Hassan and Talya. Rheza took a couple of steps toward her now. She put her scarf against her bruised face, hiding behind it in shame.
“Thank you, Madame Kartz, for letting my children have their mother back,” she said with tearful eyes. Talya didn’t have the right words to say. There were so many. Then putting his arm around her shoulders, Mohammed led Rheza away.
The second person who alighted from the plane was Johan. He showed signs of fatigue and seemed harassed.
He came toward them and said, “You don’t know how good it is to see the both of you…” He was shaking his head, smiling. “We almost didn’t make it.”
“I’m glad to see you in one piece, my friend. But, you’ll have to save all that for later,” Talya said.
“You don’t know half of it…” he started saying, but Talya patted his hand and looked toward the plane’s stairwell once again.
Savoi was coming down the stairs. The sight of his face irked her. He looked as if he was relishing the moment of glory and all the attention he was getting. The officers took him by the arms and dragged him, protesting wildly, to one of their awaiting vehicles.
Rasheed and Savoi make a good pair.
Samir came out last. He marched resolutely toward Talya, darting a glance at Hassan, took her hand and kissed it.
“Talya. Please forgive us for this ordeal. Monsieur Savoi and Madame McLean owe their lives to you for seeing the writing before your eyes. You are to be revered by us for all the time Allah would allow us to live on this earth.”
Talya didn’t know what to say. She opened her arms and hugged him. He returned the embrace and whispered, “Have no fear,” and then, as he released her and held her hands at arm’s length, he smiled. She was confused. The feeling reverberated throughout her whole being. It was incredibly strong. Her heart skipped a beat. What is that all about?
Talya shot a fleeting look in Hassan’s direction. She was glad he hadn’t noticed anything. He had turned toward Johan, talking in his ear. She turned to him. “Please, take me back to the hotel, now!” She was besieged with emotions.
Samir went to file his flight report while Johan went to talk to the officers for a few minutes and then they both came to join Talya and Hassan in their car. At last, they were on their way back to the Meridien, which they had left only a few hours before. Time had stood still for them all. A page in their lives had been turned.


92
When Talya found herself alone in the apartment, she felt pained. She desperately needed to put some order to this turmoil. Her mind and body were numb. She picked up the phone and ordered dinner. Hassan had gone to Mohammed’s room to talk to Rheza. After recounting briefly what had occurred at the mine, Samir and Johan decided to have a quick snack in their room and retire early. Except for a couple of hours of stolen sleep after they found Rheza and Savoi, apparently, they had stayed awake for nearly thirty-six hours. They suspected that Abdul Rasheed had probably fled to Mali during the night, before the police could grab him. Talya asked Samir to come and see her in the morning. She had seen it in his face—he wanted to tell her something—and what happened at the airport had left more than a trace in Talya’s heart. She could not explain the emotion, the sensation—whatever it was—she had felt when Samir returned her embrace.
Yet, now she was glad to be alone. She knew that in the hours to come she would have to provide answers. She paced the floor. Where to start? At the beginning? Yes, but the beginning was not when she landed in Dakar, it all began a long time before Talya’s arrival on the scene. The answer to Richard Gillman’s murder lay in the past. She knew that. He was killed on a deserted beach in Dakar. He died from a heart attack, probably induced by an overdose of heroin (or cocaine). Someone needed him silenced. That was the only plausible motive. What had he seen or heard? He had no family, no friends. He was an ‘eccentric’ and a drug addict, if Talya were to believe Ahmed Hjamal’s story.
Suddenly she heard a knock at the door. Without a second thought, she went to open it.
“Samir! What are you doing here? I thought we’d agreed to meet in the morning. You must be exhausted. Come in, come in.” The fatigue deepened the lines of his face.
“Please forgive me for intruding on your solitude, but I needed to tell you what I saw, before morning.” They went to the living room and sat down on the sofa.
“I don’t understand. What’s so urgent? Would you like something to drink? A glass of bissap?”
“No, no thank you. Just hear me out.” Amid the tiredness in his eyes, Talya saw anxiety ... and something else.
“All right then, tell me.”
“When we arrived and before I landed, I circled over the site to take a look at the layout. It is then I saw the three mine adits under the village—”
“Sorry to interrupt you, Samir, but did you just say, you saw mine adits under the village? I didn’t see anything like that when I was there—”
“You wouldn’t have…, but let me explain. The site is actually made of three hills. They run parallel to one another. They’re separated by two creeks. On top of the one hill, there is the village of Sabodala. The second hill has been carved out to make space for what I assumed is Hjamal’s plant. The third hill is only covered with bushes and trees. The mine adits I saw were opened on the side of the hill, and under the village, facing the plant. ”
“But I didn’t see any adits when I passed the plant—”
“That’s because the adits are hardly visible from the road. They’re located several feet above the creek running beside the lane and partly hidden. You would probably think they were some sort of cave or natural recesses in the hillside.”
“But are you telling me Hjamal is tunnelling under the village?” Talya looked incredulous.
“Yes, that’s what I saw. I could not fathom the reason for this.”
“I understand.” Talya looked into Samir’s eyes and saw it again. There was something so powerful about this man—Talya felt engulfed in his gaze. She shook off the feeling reluctantly. “But tell me something, when you were talking to the regional officers at the site, did you mention it to them? I’ve heard there was a team assessing the situation, were they there when you left?”
“No. I didn’t have a chance to talk to anybody alone. I’m sure they’ll find out anyway.”
“What about the Elder, did you tell him, or is he aware of what’s going on?”
“I don’t think he is aware of anything. He is very old and he listens to whatever people tell him. He wouldn’t have the strength to go from one end of the compound to the other, let alone go climbing hills.”
Talya sat silent for a moment and then said, “I can only tell you that I’ve never heard of any mine being dug under a village before, unless it were destined for destruction.”
“That’s what I thought. Of course, the implications for the villagers are horrendous, as you have gathered—this is the reason for my wanting to share my disquiet with you.”
Disquieting, yes it was indeed. “I think, if you are questioned about it,” Talya said, “you should tell the authorities what you saw. But if not, and if I have an opportunity to do so, I’ll find out what’s going on, and then I’ll report to the officers myself.”
“Thank you, Talya.”
“No. I’m the one who thank you, because you’ve given me, unwittingly maybe, another answer to a long list of questions. And you’ve obliged me by revealing what you saw to me first. I appreciate that.”
“Then, if you’ll permit me, I will now leave you and go to sleep with peace in my heart. May Allah be with you always,” Samir said. Then taking Talya’s hands in his, and peering into her eyes, he repeated, “Have no fear.”
When the door closed behind him, Talya was trembling. The power this man had over her feelings was compelling. She was sure that Samir was more than he purported to be. The nobility, the aristocratic demeanour, his manner—everything about this man spelled a higher station in life.
She went to sit on the lounge chair and heaved a sigh. Slowly and when her heartbeat returned to normal, Talya began to visualize the chain of events, which led to the murder of Richard Gillman and the reasons behind it. She was closer than ever to confirming the identity of the killer.
Dinner arrived. She ate on the terrace. As she was looking at the ocean, she remembered what she had seen on the first morning of her arrival in Dakar, ages ago now. A pirogue, a fisherman rowing, another casting his net once, then twice… She knew the answer, but she couldn’t prove it.
93
Late that night Talya was reading in bed when she heard a knock at the door. She wondered who could be calling at that hour. Hassan had said that he was going to retire early, so to be ready to tackle what ever was going to happen the next morning—like a meeting with the ambassador.
The rapping became insistent. Talya got into her robe and went to the entrance passage, listening to the sounds behind the door.
“Who is it?” she called out.
“James Flaubert” was the answer. In a rush, she let him in and closed the door behind him.
“James! What on earth made you come down?” Stunned, she got a big hug from him.
“Don’t look so surprised. Are you all right?”
“Yes, absolutely, but why—”
“Why am I here? Talya, I couldn’t reach you—you had left the Grand without a word. All I knew was that you were coming down to Dakar as we’d agreed when we last spoke. Only a phone call from Sir Gillian got me on the first available flight. When I arrived, I was told that Savoi and Mr. Hjamal had been questioned, that his cohort, Abdul Rasheed, was on the run, that several hundred kilos (!) of nitro had been discovered in Sabodala, and that you, my dear, were behind this ... this chaos. The ambassador also told me that Mr. Fade met with him today and that everyone was back in town awaiting police instructions. I wanted to know what really happened. So here I am.”
“Please come in,” Talya said.
They went to the living room where they sat down, she in one of the chairs, and he on the sofa. “Would you like something to drink?” Talya asked.
“Yes, if you don’t mind. I could use a drink. A scotch on the rocks, will do, if you have?”
“Of course, there is everything in this place—” She went to the bar, got James what he asked for and helped herself to a cognac. She settled back in her seat, looking at her boss in amazement—she could not quite believe he was sitting opposite her, in Dakar, in Africa!
“James,” she began, smiling, “all I want to say for the moment, is that I am very grateful that you’re here. It will make things a lot easier.”
“What things are we talking about?” He took a grateful sip from his scotch.
“What things? Well, to tell you that, I would have to tell you the whole story, and to do that, I would have to spend the rest of the night doing it.”
“Talya, I came ten thousand miles to hear what you have to say, please do me the favour of telling me right now what happened.”
She told him. When she finished, James got up from the sofa, where he had been sitting for over an hour. “If I had heard this from someone else than you, I wouldn’t have believed a word of it. And, I’m not sure I do yet.” He stood facing her, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his glass.
Talya shook her head and looked up at her boss, somewhat disappointed. “You’ve asked me to uncover the truth. You wanted me to find out what was behind Savoi’s conduct so to satisfy the Board and our shareholders that we were innocent of all blame. I’m sorry, if this whole thing turned out to be a little more than what you expected, but that’s the best I can offer.”
“Yes, I know.” He drank a bit of the scotch. “What are you going to do now?” He then pivoted on his heels and went to stand by the terrace door.
“What I’d like to do is to meet with Hjamal one last time. We need to know why he went so far as to tunnel under the village and if that was just part of a plan. And I have a couple more questions for him—”
“Such as?” James came back and sat down once again, glass still in hand.
“Such as what he is planning to do now. He doesn’t have the right to sell the land nor continue mining it, unless the government grants him the necessary permits. If not, what is he going to do?”
“And when you know that, what’s next?”
Talya was wondering why the questions. Where did he want her to go with the answers? “Sabodala will have to be taken over by someone. And if we play our cards right, Carmine can be the one to do that.”
“Aren’t you jumping the gun a little? Sabodala has never been explored properly. You know that as well as I do. We would have to start from scratch. And I don’t know that we can convince the shareholders to do that at the moment.”
“Don’t tell me you want to put Sabodala in the too-hard-basket,” Talya said, flustered, “when you know that we have a solid opportunity here. We can’t just turn our backs on it.”
“We’ll see. And what about Mali, what are we doing there?”
“We can’t do much at the moment, except perhaps planning for an exploration campaign—but that’s Terry’s department. And before getting to that point, we’ll need to do two things—”
“And what are those?” Talya felt like she was back in school, the teacher continually steering her train of thoughts.
“For one thing we have to show proof to the Minister of Mines that our agent, Mr. Savoi, was in fact embezzling funds, and was bribing government employees without our knowledge. When we’ve done that, we’ll probably be called to come back to Mali and make a presentation to a bunch of Ministers, who will ultimately approve of our plans for the development of Kankoon.” She stopped, sipped on her cognac, and waited for the next query. It didn’t come.
Instead, James said, “Now that I’ve put your brains back in some sort of order, what are you going to do tomorrow?” Put my brains back in order? What was that supposed to mean? Come to think of it—he is right. Talya was in desperate need of steering into the future.
“Well, I need to go and see the ambassador, and perhaps I’ll go to the commissioner and give a statement.”
“I agree with the ambassador part, but as for going to the commissioner, I think you should get him to come over here, so he can hear your conclusions in front of Hjamal, Savoi, Rheza McLean and Johan. And then, he can write all the reports he wants and question who ever he pleases at leisure, and we can be on our way home in a couple of days.”
That statement hit her hard. Going home—did I want to go home?
“I guess you’re right, that will be the quicker way to do things.”
“What’s wrong? You don’t sound convinced.”
“No, no I am, it’s just that…” Talya hesitated.
“What? For goodness sake—”
“What about Sabodala? Are you going to walk away?”
“I’ve heard what you said earlier. And no, personally I won’t walk away. Yet I have to think about it. If there is a way for us to get involved then of course, we can’t just turn our backs on something like that. Just let me sleep on it, okay?”
“All right.”
He fumbled in his pockets in search of his room-key. When he found it, he showed it to Talya.
“That’s where you should be able to find me in the morning. I may have a lot more questions to ask you then. And you, Talya, better have the answers.”
She smiled.
He rose from the sofa and looked down at her but didn’t say anything. He quietly took his leave. Talya remained standing in the hallway watching the door close on the man who, unknowingly, had been responsible for creating a monstrous situation out of misplaced trust.

94
The morning light came too quickly. When Talya opened her eyes, she immediately thought of Samir. How can this man have such a power over me? She wouldn’t find the answer to that question for weeks to come.
A little after nine o’clock, she and Hassan were on the terrace eating breakfast. She told him about James’s arrival and of his suggestion to tell the story to everyone who had been involved in this affair, the next day. Hassan agreed with the plan and said he would organize a meeting for nine o’clock. She also mentioned that she wanted to meet with the ambassador and with Hjamal, one last time. He didn’t like that last idea at all. Jealousy had flared in his eyes again.
A strident ringing from the living room jerked Talya out of her thoughts.
Putting the receiver to her ear, she recognized James’s voice instantly.
“Hello there. How are you?” Phone still in hand, she came back to the terrace and sat down again.
“Not worse than expected.” James sounded tired still—twenty hours of flying and running through airports could get you exhausted in no time. No wonder he sounded weary. “Ready to face the music?”
“Yes, I guess so. But could I see you, before I do, though?” Talya asked.
“Yes, I think we should meet and do a little planning of our own. That’s why I phoned.”
“Okay, when and where?”
“Let me have breakfast then I’ll come to your suite. There is enough room in there to have a General Meeting of the Board.” He laughed. “Would eleven suit you?”
“Yep, that’s sounds fine. Oh, one question; do you want to meet Maitre Sangor, and have him present at the meeting?” At hearing these words, Hassan smiled and shook his head.
“If he’s available yes, because what we have to discuss may interest him as well.”
“Good, eleven it is. We’ll see you here then.”
When they rang off, Hassan peered into Talya’s eyes. “What are you up to now?”
“Nothing really. I just thought that you should be here when I talk to James, that’s all.”
“I know you, Talya. You and James are planning something ... what is it?”
“I’m planning nothing. James is.”
“I hate going into a meeting blindfolded—”
“There isn’t any blindfolding anyone here, and to tell you the truth, I don’t know what James’s planning. We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
“Okay, you win again. But you’ve mentioned something about going to see the ambassador, when do you intend to do that? And, what about this other meeting with Hjamal? Maybe I need to get Daphne out here to straighten things out—you’re getting busier than a Minister.” He was grinning.
“How about you phone the ambassador and Hjamal to get the meetings set up for this afternoon?” Talya suggested, batting an eyelid. “How’s that for playing the part of Daphne in her absence?”
“I guess I can do that.” He was enjoying her teasing eyes. “And I prefer to do that than seeing you run off to Hjamal by yourself.”
“Don’t even go there. You’re—” He assaulted her with one of his sick-puppy look. She returned the gaze. “I’m supposed to be quiet is that it?”
“No, no just go on—”
“All right, all right. No more ifs and buts for now, and could you get on with it please?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, chuckling.
She got up, picked up her purse and trotted out, leaving Hassan bewildered and to his secretarial duties, to take a walk.
She wanted to be alone. She went down past the terrace restaurant and onto the beach. The sand felt cool under her feet. The sun hadn’t been shining on it long enough to heat it. She needed to assure herself that what she was about to reveal to these people tomorrow, was the right conclusion to this long-drawn affair—The Savoi Affair. Yet, she had no proof and it bothered her. Maybe she needed to recruit the ambassador’s help.

At eleven sharp, Talya heard a knock at the door. She didn’t know which of the two men would be first. She suspected James would be. She had a last look around the apartment—the maid had done a wonderful job in removing all traces of anyone’s passage.
“Hello, Kiddo,” James said when she opened the door. Kiddo was the nickname Talya got after a few weeks at Carmine. She couldn’t recall how it came about, but she was always pleased when James addressed her with it.
“Good morning, how was breakfast?” She closed the door and looked at her boss appreciatively. His allure was carefree and happy. Actually, he looks like the cat that just swallowed the canary.
“Glorious, is how I would describe it. That restaurant downstairs is something else. Talya, you’ve been spoiled rotten,” he said with a smirk. “And you know what the best thing about this is? The aircraft company is footing the bill for the whole thing.”
“No. Really? You mean the guys who brought me here?”
“Oh yes—them. I went to the desk this morning to check if I needed to give them a credit card or something after you’d explained how you ended up here. And they told me Air Location had given orders to put everything on their tab.”
“Wow, that’s nice of them. I bet Ken will be happy with that.”
“Absolutely. He’s already asking when you’re going to give him your expense report.”
Moments later Hassan knocked and came in dressed to a T. He had changed for the meeting. The man must have packed his entire wardrobe before coming down.
She made the introductions. James and Hassan eyed each other for a fraction of a second before sitting down.
James spoke first. “Maitre, I’ll begin by saying thank you and then I’ll have to say congratulations.”
“There’s really no need to thank me, Monsieur Flaubert. Talya did most of the work. And as for the congratulations, I don’t know what you mean.”
“I’ve put up with Talya for nearly two years, Maitre, and I still don’t know why I keep her around.” He threw a quick glance in Talya’s direction. She smiled. “Yet, you’ve managed to stand her for over a month, in the middle of this turmoil? Of course, I have to congratulate you for your tolerance and steadfastness. I have a good idea what you went through!”
They laughed. The ice was broken.
95
“Okay, let’s start with a few questions,” James began. He had chosen to sit on the sofa once again, and across from Talya and Hassan. “And let’s leave Savoi and Mali aside for now. What exactly have you discovered about the ownership of Sabodala?”
Talya turned to Hassan. He had the answers to that question.
Hassan put his elbows on his knees, lifted his face to James and said, “In all the paperwork that I was shown, I couldn’t find anything which proved that Monsieur Hjamal was authorized officially to occupy the land, let alone mine it.”
“What about permits to dig wells or drain septic tanks, for example, or even permits to construct the plant? Did you see any of that?”
“No, I didn’t see any permits of any sort. The only thing that was relevant was the accounting ledger. It showed numerous transactions taking place for over two years and funds being transferred from Mali into Minorex’s account and some expenses for the purchase of the equipment for the plant—but, again, nothing by way of payment of taxes or fees for acquisition of permits of any kind.”
“Now, Maitre, I’d like you to think carefully before you answer the next question. The ledger which you’ve examined, did it show clearly that Savoi actually transferred funds into the business?”
“Not very clearly, no, except for the name of Savoi’s company being mentioned in brackets from time to time, beside the amounts received.” As James was about to interrupt him, Hassan held up his hand. “But that’s not all. As I’ve told Talya, when I phoned her on the day, I had found bank account statements, which showed the details of each of the transactions that had taken place—dates, amounts, everything.”
“I see. That’s excellent,” James said.
Hassan and Talya looked at each other. They were taken aback. Why would embezzlement become ‘excellent’ all of a sudden?
“I see that you don’t understand. Do you, Talya?”
“You’re right I don’t. Why is it excellent?”
“Because, this is one way to acquire a minor interest in Sabodala.”
She didn’t see the reasoning behind that statement immediately. Yet slowly she woke up, and it became clear.
James went on with his explanation. “After I left you last night, I called Ken, and we had a long discussion about Sabodala. What he said was this: if we can prove that Carmine’s money has been used in the development of the mine, and expenditure has been made toward the purchase of the equipment, we can then claim a minor interest in the venture. Or we could claim first right of purchase from Hjamal, if he decided to sell. That is, of course, if he owned any of it, but since he doesn’t, we will have the first crack at acquiring permits from the government as a foreign developer and a shareholder of Minorex.”
“That’s wonderful! And what’s the Board got to say about it?” Talya was all smiles now.
“Not so fast, Kiddo, we need to plan this out first. You’ve said we were going to meet with Mr. Hjamal, did you make an appointment?”
“No,” Hassan rushed to answer, “Talya didn’t have time to look after the secretarial duties, I did,” with a teasing smile at the corner of his mouth. James was observing the two of them, but he kept quiet. “Hjamal was very surprised at the request, but he accepted to see Talya (the three of us actually) at three o’clock this afternoon.”
“That’s good. And what about the commissioner and the meeting tomorrow morning?”
“That wasn’t easy, sir. I had to talk him into it. Anyway, he finally agreed.”
“And does he know who we would like to see at the meeting?”
“I told him, and he was the one who proposed to call them.”
“Very good. Next time I’ll need an assistant I think I’ll call on you, Hassan.” James glanced at Talya knowingly. “Okay, here is what we’re going to do.”
For the next hour, James planned their move, and much of their discussions focused on business culture differences between Senegal, Mali and Canada. In the end, they decided to go for lunch at the terrace restaurant.
Talya was pleased, happy actually, that James had taken the reins again.
Going home isn’t such a bad idea after all.
When they reached the table behind the long bar and closest to the beach, Talya noticed Rheza and Mohammed sitting some ways near the gardens. She went to greet them. Mohammed rose as he saw her approach. Rheza, who looked much refreshed, smiled but remained seated. Her ankle must have been bothering her yet.
“Talya. How are you? Won’t you join us?” Mohammed was brimming with enthusiasm. He looked content.
“I’m just fine, thank you, but I can’t. How are you? And you, Rheza?”
“I’m fine, Madame Kartz.” The ruefulness in her voice was unmistakable. “This is such a lovely place.”
“And you should enjoy it then, because I’m sure it won’t be long now until you’ll be able to go home.”
“What about you? When are you planning to go back?” Mohammed asked.
“I don’t know. A lot depends on the meetings we will have with Monsieur Hjamal.”
“Oh?”
“Yes… But you didn’t know Monsieur Flaubert arrived last night, did you?”
“Did he really? That’s excellent news. He will bring you the guidance you need.”
“He has already,” Talya said. “A few hours with him is like taking a refresher course in business logic. Anyway, I won’t keep you. I have to return to my bosses.” She nodded in the direction of James and Hassan, who were waiting for her to return before sitting down.”
Mohammed chuckled. “Yes, I guess you have two bosses to contend with now, haven’t you?”
“I’ll see you in the morning if not sooner.”
“Madame Kartz?” Rheza looked up at Talya. “Can I ask you if we’ll ever see you again?”
“I don’t know, but I hope so. Now, I must go. Please excuse me. Oh, Mohammed, I almost forgot,” Talya said, retracing her steps. “Have they released Monsieur Savoi yet?”
“Yes, they had to. He’s at the Terranga I believe.”
“Well that’s a good place for him I guess.” She paused. “But what’s going to happen now? The proof of embezzlement is here…”
“Don’t worry about any of that. Leave it to me,” Mohammed cut-in. “I’ll see that you’re cleared, I mean Carmine is cleared from any bribing accusations and all that sort of thing. Just go home.”
“Okay then, see you later.”
96
Walking down the sandy road toward the nearest bus stop, Rasheed was in no mood for company. He was in the mood for revenge. The Kartz woman had meant trouble since the day she arrived in Bamako. He had it all planned beforehand—Richard had been expendable, a liability really. The way she had weaselled her way into Hjamal’s business was incredible. She was devious, unbearably stubborn—like a rabid dog, she wouldn’t let go of you once she got hold of your ankle.
The honking of a bus drew Rasheed out of his thoughts. He climbed aboard and gave the driver the only bill he had in his pocket—100 CFA. He knew it would not be enough to get him to Dakar.
“That’s not enough,” the driver said. “Where you going?”
“Dakar,” Rasheed replied flatly.
“Well, unless you have a hundred more of these”—he waved the bill under Rasheed’s nose—“that’ll get you only to the next stop.”
“I don’t have anything else,” Rasheed flared, once again blaming the Kartz woman for his troubles.
“Come on. You must have something worth the trip to Dakar. Let’s see…”—he peered at Rasheed’s hand; the one holding his jacket—“What about that ring? That would get you to Dakar and back if you wanted to part with it.”
“That’s worth more than ten trips to Dakar…”
“Okay. You don’t want to give the ring then you don’t want to go to Dakar. Get off!”
Rasheed was incensed. “I’ll give you my jacket, that’s at least 10,000 CFA—take it or leave it!”
“Get off!” the driver repeated, glaring at Rasheed. He didn’t move. “Come on, there are people behind you, and I need to get going. Get off!”
“Alright, alright,” Rasheed shouted, pulling off the ring from his finger and giving it to the driver.
“Right. Now move. I don’t have time for this.”
Once Rasheed was sitting near a window, and the bus began his laborious six hundred-kilometre journey, he began drawing a plan. He was going to have her, and after that, he was going to kill her.
97
At three o’clock sharp, they were sitting in Monsieur Hjamal’s anteroom waiting for him to get off the phone, his secretary told them. He had taken the whole of the first floor in an old, but nicely renovated, house in the business district of Dakar. The layout was basic and apparently effective. There were two offices on each side of the hall leading from the stairwell. From there and down the corridor, another two rooms had their door wide open. Talya, James and Hassan were waiting in one of them. A man and a woman, busily working away, occupied the other.
Monsieur Hjamal’s secretary was a mature woman, judging by the deep jaw lines on either side of her thick lips. She had the allure of someone resigned to her fate. The glasses, slipping down to the tip of her nose, made her look stern. Sitting there typing away, she reminded Talya of a schoolteacher burdened at the thought of having to scold a reprehensible pupil.
The side of her desk was tucked under two large windows at the far end of the room. The three of them were sitting on a long, dark brown, leather sofa, which was the only other piece of furniture apart from the usual filing cabinets, standing along the wall across from them.
Monsieur Hjamal flung the door, opposite his secretary, open. He marched toward the visitors with a lighter but still purposeful stride. His face showed an odd combination of anxiety and pleasure. He greeted them with a warm smile. They shook hands and followed him into his domain.
That was a remarkable sight. My God, it looks like the man has spent more money on this massive furniture than Ken would have authorized to redecorate our entire office floor. This vast room was divided into some sort of ‘lounge’ and an office. In the lounge, there were two sofas, similar to the one in the anteroom, and two chairs. An enormous coffee table stood in the middle of the seating arrangement.
Oak wood panels—no pressed boards here—covered every wall. The carpets, although not Persian, were deep and soft underfoot. The office, on the other side of a high vaulted archway, contained an immense writing table covered to the very edges with files, books, maps, etc. It reminded Talya of the mess in James’s office. The two chairs opposite the desk looked comfortable, such as the one behind it did.
Hassan and Talya sat in one of the sofas next to each other. Hassan came closer and Talya discreetly moved away. James and Ahmed Hjamal sat facing one another at opposite end of the coffee table.
“Monsieur Flaubert, this is indeed an honour to have you sitting across from me,” Hjamal said, a smile of satisfaction crossing his lips. “I didn’t expect to have the privilege of seeing us around the same table for a long time to come.” He brushed a meaningful glance by Talya’s face.
“Circumstances have brought me here much sooner than I would have liked, Monsieur Hjamal,” James replied cautiously, “but as it is, I’m grateful for the opportunity to meet with you.”
Hassan looked at Talya, his elbows on his knees. He was expecting what they both knew was coming—a final explanation from Hjamal and an offer of departure into the future from James.
The latter was relaxed. He had his legs crossed, one ankle resting on the other knee. “As you know, Monsieur Hjamal, Maitre Sangor has uncovered the details of several transactions that have taken place between yourself and Monsieur Savoi. These transactions have, in fact, opened the door to enable Carmine to claim an interest in your venture.”
Hjamal looked at James intently while sliding to the edge of the chair, gripping the armrests. “I am surprised at your conclusion, Monsieur Flaubert. How would these transactions open such a door?”
“You are a very astute business man, Monsieur Hjamal, so I won’t bore you with lengthy financial rhetoric’s. I’ll simply tell you this: Monsieur Savoi was our agent; Carmine sent him large sums of money every month to further our purpose in Mali. However, he chose to use that money for another purpose, and that was to help you in your venture. Because our agent channelled these funds which ended up in your books, and since this was done—although without our knowledge—we have acquired an interest in your enterprise.”
Hjamal was caught in his own web of deceit and he knew it. He looked at Talya sharply. He probably thought she was the instigator of this new turn of events. She remained silent.
Hjamal returned his attention to James. “When Madame Kartz suggested that maybe one day, there would be a way for Carmine to help me, I had no idea this is what she meant, otherwise…”
“No, no, Monsieur Hjamal, do not give credit where credit is not due. Maitre Sangor only reported the facts to me this morning. Madame Kartz was unaware of the financial ramifications the transactions had provoked. She knew nothing of this.”
“So, are you intending to take-over the project?” Hjamal blurted. “Because as you know by now, I don’t own Sabodala and what’s more I don’t have any permits to continue working there.” Hjamal’s face was stern and his jaw clenched. He was not ready to give up his life’s work without a fight.
“No,” James repeated, sitting up, advancing his body toward the coffee table and putting his elbows on his knees. “Carmine has no intention to take-over anything at this time. What we need to do—that is you and I—we need to get an agreement written and signed as soon as possible. This agreement would simply confirm our understanding and would delineate our respective responsibilities.”
“But that won’t allow me to work, or will it?” Hjamal lashed the words at James.
“No, it won’t allow you to do anything for a time. But it will allow Carmine to apply for the permits we will need to work together.”
“And what do I do with the equipment and the mining that’s being done and the personnel to pay? What do you suggest I tell these people while I wait for the permits to land on your desk?”
Hassan, his head bent down, had not looked at the face of the man whom he despised. He raised his face to him now and said, “We have here a man who’s ready to help you. Monsieur Flaubert wants to add value to the work you have already accomplished. It may be a good idea if you would allow him to put the whole proposal before you and wait until he’s done so, prior to jumping to undue conclusions.”
After a somewhat long pause and looking at his three visitors in turn, Hjamal said, “You’re right, and I’m sorry,” his annoyance visibly subsiding. “I had noticed it the other day. You are wise, Maitre Sangor, very wise indeed.” He switched to James. “I’m sorry to have gone off on a tangent, but I’ve tried to do my best in the worst of circumstances. And because I’ve trusted the wrong people, I’ve ended up with blood on my hands and nothing else to show for my troubles.”
“All right then,” James resumed, “what I propose to do is that you show me exactly what you have done so far on the land, including the mining plans and what type of research you’ve done to get to where you are today.”
“Yes, I see. Well then, if you have time, I can show you what I have here and after that, if you still think there is a way to pursue the project, we could go to the site together.”
“That’s fine to a point, Monsieur Hjamal. We can review what’s been done over here, but as far as going with you to the site, I don’t know if we can afford the time. And I’m not sure that we have a plane to take us there.” He turned to Talya, a querying look in his eyes.
“We could hire Captain Sahab’s services, if he is available?” she suggested tentatively. Hassan turned a surprised face to Talya. She ignored him.
“I suppose we could ask him,” James rejoined hesitantly, still looking at Talya.
“Perhaps, we should wait until after tomorrow’s meeting and then decide what we should do,” Hassan interposed flatly.
“Again, Maitre, I think that’s a wise suggestion.” Hjamal then fixed his eyes on Talya. “You know, I’m actually looking forward to the meeting tomorrow. Maybe it will clear me of all these unfounded accusations.” She didn’t move a muscle.
“Yes, I think you may very well be. And now while we are on the subject, I believe Madame Kartz has a couple of questions for you,” James concluded, looking at his assistant.
“Monsieur Hjamal,” Talya began, “I wish to thank you for cleaning the slate the way you did, in allowing Maitre Sangor to review the financial arrangements you had with Monsieur Savoi. But now you’ll have to forgive me for what I’m about to suggest—”
“At this time,” Hjamal put-in, “I don’t think anything you’d have to say would need forgiveness…”
“Monsieur Hjamal, let me please? As I was about to say, those financial arrangements led us to be sitting here today. Still, a murder has been committed. The reasons for it lie at the mine site, and the blame lies with the people you’ve employed, I believe.”
“You mean Abdul Rasheed?”
“No, not Abdul Rasheed. Although, I’m certain he was partially responsible for Richard’s murder.”
“So who?”
“I can’t tell you that now.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would be ill advised for me to point the finger at anyone without substantiated evidence, which I don’t have at the moment.”
“Yes. Well,” Hjamal agreed somewhat reluctantly. “Then let’s hear the questions you have.”
“My first question relates to the three mine adits opened under the Sabodala hillside. Are you tunnelling under the village, and if so, why?”
“I see that you’ve been well informed. And you’re right they are mine adits, Madame Kartz, but not leading to tunnels as yet.”
“Then you are intending to mine under the village and destroy it in the process.”
“Yes, I am!”
Either the man was mad as a hatter or they didn’t hear him correctly. Hassan could barely contain his exasperation at the man’s arrogance. He shook his head in disgust. James was agape. The three of them looked at Ahmed Hjamal as if they had just seen a monster at the fair.
Hjamal got to his feet. “Monsieur Flaubert, please come and see what this is all about. And you too, Madame Kartz and Maitre …”
They stood up all at once and hurried to the desk to see what the man wanted to show them. He unfolded several blue prints and maps before them. Pointing to them one by one, he went through a thorough explanation of his ‘grand plan’. In short, he was going to transfer the whole village to the third hill and replace every hut, house, building and what ever else made up the village of Sabodala, with new and more comfortable housing, amenities for everyone, and then some.
As he put them through the paces of his dream, amazement replaced anger. Admiration replaced disgust and wilfulness to make it happen, replaced doubts and distrust. They went back to their seats.
“What you’ve just shown us, Monsieur Hjamal, is admirable. Do you realize if you had come clean when you were in Vancouver none of this would have happened?”
“I know that now, Monsieur Flaubert. I guess pride is a very bad guiding light when you take a trip into darkness.” I would have to remember that one.
“Now what about your second question, Madame Kartz, or do you have any more?”
“Just a couple; you asked Richard to come back to work for you, didn’t you?” The fisherman casting his net once, then twice….
“How, how on earth did you know that?” Hjamal looked at her, evidently shocked.
“I didn’t know it for a fact until just now. It was the only plausible explanation. Am I correct or not?”
“Yes, you are. In fact, when I left Vancouver and got no help from you,” Hjamal said, looking at James pointedly, “I went to Toronto and contacted Richard. Since he had been fired from his old job and he was looking for work, he accepted my proposition to come back as a consultant readily enough. I gave him a ticket and an advance there and then, expecting him to show up at the site a couple of weeks later, but the strange thing was that he never made the flight between Nouakchott and Dakar on the appointed day. He just showed up a month or so later and asked me if my offer still stood. I took him back because he was a good engineer—when he put his mind to it.”
Talya nodded. “If I am right, Richard used your ticket for something else. And the last question is this: when was he supposed to land in Dakar?”
“That I can tell you for sure—it was in December of last year.”
“Good. That coincides with the stamps in his passport. I mean, there is a stamp showing he landed in Nouakchott alright, but none showed him landing in Dakar.”
“So what did he do in the meantime? Where did he go? How did he live? He didn’t know anyone here, not that I’m aware of.”
“Oh no, Monsieur Hjamal, he knew quite a few people here ... and he knew Abdul Rasheed.”
“Abdul? But I thought he’d be the last person Richard—”
“Please bear with me until tomorrow,” Talya cut him off in midstream, “I think I’ll have all the answers for you by then.”
James got to his feet. “I think we should leave now.” He apparently did not want to prolong the discussion. “We have taken much of your time and shouldn’t abuse of your hospitality. I’ll be in touch with you tomorrow afternoon and maybe if I can impose on Maitre Sangor’s assistance, we could start drawing the agreement we spoke of.”
Hassan nodded in James’s direction as he stood up.
They shook hands with Hjamal and Hassan led Talya out of the office. She could sense he wanted to re-assert his position. He knew she felt something for the man, and he was probably feeling insecure about Talya’s tacit relationship with Hjamal. She felt a storm approaching, when she looked into his eyes, as they were leaving. James followed close behind so Hassan couldn’t say anything. It was just as well, it would give him time to cool off until they returned to the hotel.
As they got to the car, and standing in the parking lot, James said, “I’ll need to have a talk with you two when we get back to the hotel. There are some things we need to clear up.”
“Which things are those?” This unexpected request had peeked Talya’s curiosity.
“Well, for one thing, you seem to have a penchant for our Monsieur Hjamal, which could be dangerous.”
“Me? I don’t have a penchant for anyone. Really, James,” she said with fervour.
“But you do. It’s clear that you have some sort of admiration for this man, and that, Talya, is very dangerous.” She saw Hassan smile. Unknown to James, he had found an ally.
“Yes, you’re right, I have to agree I do admire him for what he dared to do, or better for what he’s planning to do, but don’t you?”
“Yes I do. There’s no denying it, his plan is admirable. However, I haven’t lost sight of the fact that the man is a dangerous individual—for him ‘his ends justify his means’ and you’ve seen him in action. Any means was justified as long as he attained his goal. That’s all I’m saying. Just be careful.”
“Monsieur Flaubert is right, Talya. And I know what you’re going to say,” Hassan rejoined.
“And what am I going to say?”
“For a start, you’re going to say: But.” At these words, James laughed heartily. Hassan smiled and so did Talya.
“I can see that you know Talya much better than I expected,” James said.
“Not yet, Monsieur Flaubert, not yet, not as much as I’d like to…”
Looking at her companions, Talya broke-in, “Well, if you gentlemen are done with your bantering, we could perhaps get to the ambassador before he gives up on us,” climbing in the backseat after Hassan opened the car door for her.
James got in the car. “Of course, I forgot, Sir Gillian. He must be on tender hooks by now. So let’s get on with it shall we?”
While they were driving through traffic at a snail’s pace, Hassan turned to James. “I am curious. You said that you wanted to talk to me about something, and may I ask what would that be?”
“Yes, you may ask, but you won’t get an answer right now. I don’t want to be responsible for you to have an accident in downtown Dakar. You’ll have to wait until we’re safely back at the hotel.”
Hassan smiled.
98
Similar to the Canadian consulate in Bamako, the Dakar embassy offices occupied the third floor of a modern building, which was located not far from Hjamal’s building.
The waiting room was like any other waiting room Talya knew. A bunch of chairs aligned opposite a counter behind which people were busy at their desk filling forms or doing what ever it was that they were doing. When they went in, James took the lead, marched to the counter and presumably announced their arrival for the meeting with his Excellency. He returned to sit beside Hassan and Talya and told them that the ambassador would be right out.
Sir Gillian Faulkner came out of a side door to meet them, his hand outstretched and a broad smile across his face. They shook hands. James made the introductions and they trotted through the door under the watchful eye of a Royal Canadian Mounted Police Officer, in traditional uniform.
His office was of a modest size and decorated with taste. Desk and chairs were antique pieces, probably taken from his home or brought in from Europe. They sat down across from him, and waited. He was skimming a document in front of him.
Sir Gillian was the picture of an Englishman—Talya’s picture anyway. He was tall with a lanky frame and a nonchalant attitude. The grey hair and moustache, the thin face and deep-set, blue eyes under thin eyebrows gave the impression of stoicism. Not much would move him. Yet, when he put his reading glasses on, she thought how fatherly and amiable the man looked. The commanding officer, she had heard on the phone was not the man she saw sitting at the desk. She wondered where the bowler hat and the umbrella could be.
“Ms Kartz,” Sir Gillian began, addressing Talya from over his spectacles, “I have just received a document, which may be of interest to you. In fact I’m sure it will answer some of the questions you should have in mind to pose at this very minute.”
“May I ask what the document in question is?”
“You may indeed, Ms Kartz. Before I reveal its content, however, I’ll ask you to confirm a few points for me. First, I would like you to tell me the name of the person whom you suspect to be responsible for the murder of Richard Gillman, that is, if you know his name, and then I’ll ask you to clarify your involvement, if any, with this person.”
“Yes, of course, I will tell you what I suspect has happened, and who the guilty party may be. Yet, I have no evidence to support my allegations. You see, the story I am prepared to put before you is only the logical conclusion I have drawn after analyzing all of the facts and information I have received or gleaned during the past several weeks. I have no proof to support any of these deductions. So, if this is understood, I am prepared to tell you the whole story from beginning to end.”
“Once I’ve heard what you’re about to say, Ms Kartz, I may be in a position to assist in gathering the evidence you may need to substantiate your allegations.” That’s what I call playing ball in a discussion.
James and Hassan, who had been watching the exchange much like they’d be watching a tennis match, decided to recline in their seat and listen to what was sure to be a long story. James had heard it the day before and Hassan had been involved in it from almost the beginning. His Excellency took his glasses off and began folding and unfolding the branches in a rhythmic gesture.
“But before you start, I must ask Mr. Flaubert and Maitre Sangor a question, if you’ll permit me?”
“By all means…” Talya shot a fleeting look at her companions.
“Gentlemen, I recognize that you’ve been involved in this affair perhaps willingly or maybe unwittingly. Therefore, and not knowing what Ms Kartz is about to reveal and whether or not it will implicate either of you, I must ask you if you wish to leave the room to shield yourselves from undue revelation or provocation?” Goodness, doesn’t he know that Hassan and James have nothing to do with the murder of Richard?
James shifted in his chair. “I’ve had the privilege of hearing the story first hand last night, and I don’t think Maitre Sangor or I have anything to worry about.”
“Your Excellency,” Hassan began, “you have put your trust in me once before by asking me to escort Madame Kartz to Dakar. Unfortunately, I wasn’t able to do what you asked at the time. However, now I believe she is in need of my presence as her counsel. So, if you’ll permit me I’ll be staying at her side for the duration of this conversation.”
“Good, and since that’s settled, Ms Kartz, please go on.”
“Thank you,” Talya said, taking a sheaf of notes out of her purse. “As you are aware, this story began several months before our involvement….”
It took the better part of an hour to get to the end of her recital. At which time the ambassador turned to Hassan.
“Maitre Sangor, when you and Ms Kartz are going to face the authorities tomorrow morning, I suggest that you open the proceedings with a statement to the effect that she will have no official authority to instigate any arrest nor will she make any comments that could be construed as allegations. Do you understand what I am saying?”
“Yes, of course. I was intending to do that anyway.”
“As for you, Mr. Flaubert, I’ll ask only one thing. Please, get Ms Kartz out of Senegal as soon as possible.”
“Yes, that is my intention. We all know, although Ms Kartz won’t admit it, she is in danger until this affair is cleared up. Nonetheless, she has a duty toward the courts and also a responsibility toward my company and its shareholders,” James said, while getting to his feet and beginning to pace the floor under the astonished gaze of the ambassador. Talya knew James. He liked to pace the floor peering down at his feet when faced with a quandary. It seemed that the solution of the problem was written on his shoes.
“As you are aware, I’m sure,” James went on, not looking at his interlocutor, “Ms Kartz will have to come back for the trial that’s sure to follow these events, in a few months time. In the meantime, there are now two projects on our West African table, which, she will oversee either from Bamako or Dakar, where ever her presence is required.” Where was my friend, Stanley Baron, to call a meeting of the Board now, to sanction that decision?
Talya looked at Hassan. He was smiling, grinning even. If he had not being sitting in the ambassador’s office, he probably would have jump for joy, literally.
“Quite,” Sir Gillian nodded, “but my point is that she is in danger right now. At this very minute and until the police get off their duff, we have a responsibility. We, and I, in particular, have the responsibility to see Ms Kartz safely out of here…” Are we going to go through this again—with guards, and escorts shadowing me…?
“Sir Gillian,” Talya cut-in, “with all due respect for what you’re trying to do, I don’t need protection at this time. I may be in danger, although I don’t think so, because the person I suspect, as I explained, acted on an impulse. He has no intention, in my opinion, to attack me openly or covertly at this time. He is convinced Mr. Rasheed will be blamed for the murder of Richard Gillman as we all were, only two days ago.”
“Madame Kartz, Talya, please? Do not endanger yourself needlessly,” Hassan said with all the restraint he could muster, although his frustration was obvious. “You’ve done it in Bamako by accepting a ride, which could have landed you in the worst of troubles. His Excellency is right. You should heed his counsel and, this time; accept the protection he offers graciously.” Hassan’s concern was blatant. James and Sir Gillian smiled at his vehemence.
“I guess if there is no other way…”
“There isn’t,” the ambassador interrupted, “and I can assure you, you won’t know we are there. I’ll give instruction to that effect before you leave this building.”
“Okay then,” James said from the window near which he was standing. “But, I’m sorry, Sir Gillian, didn’t you say you may be able to assist Talya in proving her allegations in some way?”
“Oh, of course, I did,” Sir Gillian replied, replacing his spectacles atop his nose. “What I have here, is a police report from the Nouakchott Police Authority.” Hassan and Talya exchange a glance. Hassan smiled and shook his head.
“Does it relate to Richard’s activity in Mauritania?” Talya questioned.
“Yes, it does.”
“Can we see it?” James asked from behind Talya now.
“Yes, of course. I don’t think you will be surprised at its content, though,” Sir Gillian said, handing the report to James.
After a few moments, James showed it to Talya. What she read only confirmed what she suspected all along. Hassan read it over her shoulder.
Talya handed the paper back to the ambassador. “Is the police in Dakar in possession of the document?”
“Oh yes, they’re the ones who’ve sent it to me. However, I don’t think they have reached the same conclusion as you did. I’m sure they haven’t made the connection between the people involved—at least from what the commissioner told me this morning.”
“Thank you for your help,” Talya said. “I think, and after tomorrow morning, it will be up to the commissioner to gather evidence. As far as I am concerned, I believe I have completed my mission and I’ve done what you wanted.”
“That you have, Ms Kartz.” Sir Gillian smiled. “And I’ll look forward to seeing you back in Dakar in the months to come.”
Hassan looked puzzled.
“We thank you for the time you have taken out of your schedule to see us,” James said, extending a hand for the ambassador to shake. “You can expect to hear from us tomorrow after the meeting and perhaps we could get together informally when this is all over?”
“I’d like that very much indeed.” They shook hands. “You’ll have to come to my house one-day and visit with my wife. She would love to meet you, Ms Kartz, and you, Maitre.”
99
When they arrived at the hotel, Samir was waiting for them in the atrium. He came toward them, a worried look in his eyes.
“Talya, Hassan, may I talk to you for a moment?”
“What are you doing here, waiting for us?” Hassan’s jealous intolerance was plain for all to hear.
“I’ve had a troublesome day.” He turned to Talya. “I need to tell you what happened.”
“Yes, of course,” she said, “but before you do, I’d like you to meet James Flaubert, the President of Carmine. James, this is Captain Samir Shaykh Sahab, the man who brought Hassan and Mr. Fade to Dakar, and who saved Mrs. McLean and Mr. Savoi from their fate.”
Salaaming to James, Samir said, “Monsieur Flaubert, it is a great honour indeed to meet you. As a humble traveller of the desert, I wish for Allah to watch over you in all your endeavours.”
“I am the one who is honoured by your presence, Captain. You have watched over Ms Kartz and Maitre Sangor, and you have saved the lives of two people. And for that, none of us will ever be able to repay you.”
“Allah will repay me, if he sees fit.”
Even in his faded jeans and T-shirt, this man has the presence of a prince, Talya remarked silently.
“Let’s sit down,” Hassan said, indicating a sofa beside the baobab. “What is so urgent or troublesome that you had to wait for us to return?”
“It is simple,” Samir began. “The police questioned everyone today, as you know. I had no choice but to tell them what I saw in Sabodala. Whether they’re going to do something about it or whether they understand the implications of the three adits being dug under the village, I don’t know. Yet, I felt it was important to let you know that the authorities are now fully informed of the discovery.”
“Thank you,” Talya said, looking at the man with renewed interest. “I’m sure the authorities will take the appropriate measures to see to the safety of the villagers.”
Samir was much better educated than he led on. There was a mystery about him, which was almost enticing. “Oh, by the way, have you seen Johan today?” Talya asked as an afterthought.
“Yes. We had breakfast together and then he said he was going to visit some friends in town or something. He wanted to meet us for dinner tonight. He should be back shortly, I imagine.”
“What about Monsieur Fade and Madame McLean, did you see them this afternoon?” Hassan asked.
“No, not this afternoon,” Samir replied, looking at Hassan with a trace of annoyance in his voice. What is that all about? “I saw them a few minutes ago when they came back from the market. I think Monsieur Fade is in his room now. I told them I was waiting for you.”
“All right then, would you have dinner with us tonight?” Talya offered while looking at James, seeking his approval.
“Yes, of course, Captain,” James said. “If you could, it would be an honour to have you join us at our table.”
“Then, I accept. I’ll be there at seven o’clock if that is a suitable time for you?”
James rose from the sofa. “Excellent. Now if you’ll excuse us?”
From the Atrium, James, Hassan and Talya went up to their respective rooms, leaving Samir to look after them as they stepped into the elevator.
When Talya closed the door behind her, she kicked her shoes off and slumped onto the sofa. She was tired. She didn’t know how she was going to face the next day, let alone tonight. She had an hour to herself before James, Hassan, Samir and she were due to meet at the terrace restaurant for a drink.
She had worn a white blouse with cotton trousers during the day and now, looking at the meagre choice of clothing hanging in the wardrobe, she had only one alternative, the black ensemble. Oh well, Hassan chose it, he’ll have to see me wearing it again.
100
When Hassan stepped off the elevator, he went to Mohammed’s room instead of his.
Mohammed opened the door distractedly. Obviously, he didn’t expect to see Hassan standing in the embrasure.
“My Friend! What are you doing here? Samir told me you were out with Talya and Monsieur Flaubert. I didn’t expect to see you till tomorrow morning.”
“May I come in?” Hassan’s attitude was hesitant.
“Sure, sure come in. Rheza is gone to have a rest before dinner. We’ve had a long day. First at the police station and then shopping…” They went to the terrace and sat down.
“Monsieur Flaubert knows about me and Talya … I’m sure of it,” Hassan said an anxious look in his eyes.
“Well, wasn’t it to be expected? He knows Talya and he must have noticed her behaviour when she’s around you.”
“I know, but he said he needed to ‘clear a few things.’ And he wants to discuss this with me tonight.”
“Aha, and you didn’t like that I bet?”
“No, not at all, and I didn’t know what this is all about.”
“Let me tell you something. Monsieur Flaubert is probably a man who cares for Talya and what happens to her. He’s simply going to tell you stop your pussy-footing around and acting like a jerk.”
“Yes well, but I’m afraid to say the wrong thing.”
“What ‘wrong thing’?”
“If he brings it up I would have to tell him that a union between us is not possible.”
“Allah, have mercy on this man,” Mohammed said, lifting his eyes to the heavens.
“But that’s the truth, Mohammed. How could we ever contemplate marriage? We live worlds apart. We’ve been brought up believing in different Gods. How could we ever be happy together?”
“It may be the truth, the way you understand it today, but what you’re proposing to say is not the truth in itself. I agree you’re living different lives, and you have been brought up with different creeds. But how could these things prevent you from being happy together?”
“It’s what Talya told me. She said that we would need to adapt our ways before considering marriage. I can’t remember her exact words, but in essence that’s what she meant.”
“And what did you say to that?”
“Well, I told her that I needed her support to make the changes she wanted and that she would need my support to grow into our union.”
“I see. Well, it brings me back to my suggestion. Do you remember I mentioned the word ‘courtship’ to you once before? And it seems you didn’t heed my words.”
“But, isn’t that what I’m doing right now?—courting her.”
“If you mean pursuing her is the way you view courtship, then you’re off tracks completely, my friend.”
“What am I supposed to do then? Present Monsieur Flaubert with a thousand goats and the deed of my practice? Or is that not enough?”
Mohammed smiled at the thought of a thousand goats being brought in to the reception hall of the Meridien hotel. “No I don’t think that would do it—even if you had a thousand goats to bring before him.” He chuckled.
“So tell me what can I do?”
“I’ve never had the opportunity to court a white woman before, and a Jewish one at that, so I’ll only suggest a couple things. In the first place, I think you need to tell Monsieur Flaubert why you don’t think a union is possible—because you don’t know the ways to make it possible, and see what he says. The other thing you should do, and that as soon as you can, is to go see Talya alone and tell her that you wish to court her and try to ‘adapt’ your ways, and see how she reacts. I bet she’ll welcome you with open arms.”
“Or she’ll kick me out?”
“That’s a strong possibility, knowing her, but somehow I don’t think so. I think she’ll want to know a lot more about you and your life, so that she can better understand why marriage between the two of you has become your prime objective in life.”
“That’s not my prime objective in life,” Hassan retorted with resentment.
“Oh no? Why then do you want to keep Talya close to you? Why couldn’t you let her be with who she wants to be? Like the way you’re reacting when she wants to evade you and protect Hjamal.”
“Oh, you’ve seen her doing it then? How could she do that? And she did it again this afternoon when we were in his office. I tell you she admires the man. Even Monsieur Flaubert noticed it and he warned her about how dangerous the man could be.”
“Monsieur Flaubert is absolutely right. The man could be very dangerous. Yet I have to admit I have some respect for him now that I know what he’s planning to do. Although I don’t particularly care for the way he’s done things to get where he is.”
“You? You say you have respect for this man. I thought you hated him. What made you change your mind?”
“I got a call from the ambassador a few minutes ago.”
“Wow! News does travel fast around here.”
“He had to call me, because this is as much a political complication as it is a justice problem. Rasheed has presumably gone back to Mali, and I needed to know if we were going to track down a thief or a murderer. And you know the difference it makes under our laws.”
“So what else did he say about Hjamal?”
“See how you are?—you can’t let go of an idea once you have it in your head.”
“And what’s that?” Hassan riveted his eyes on Mohammed.
“You’re jealous. You can’t wait for someone to find a flaw in Hjamal’s character or a mistake he may have made, so you could come down on him like the wrath of Allah. That’s a dangerous trait, very dangerous indeed, because I could see the day when you would strike Talya, blaming her for looking at another man.”
“I wouldn’t. Never!” Hassan denied strenuously.
“No? Then tell me how did you feel when you came out of Hjamal’s office this afternoon? Didn’t you want to reprimand her somehow for admiring what the man is proposing to do?”
“Yes, yes, of course I did. But I didn’t want to hurt her. I wanted to kiss her to make her understand she’s mine and no one else’s.” Instantly, when Hassan realized what he had said, he was confounded. He couldn’t explain the dreadful feeling of anger and hatred that ran through his being. Had Hjamal being there on the terrace, he would have pushed him off the balcony.
“Exactly,” Mohammed said, shaking his head. “You need to hold on to the only thought that counts in moments like these. You need to remind yourself that Talya probably loves you and that admiring a man has nothing to do with what she feels for you.”
“And what happens when she’ll come back for the Sabodala project? What am I going to do then? How can I ignore the fact that she’ll be with Hjamal day after day? I can’t Mohammed, I can’t.”
“If you love her the way you should, with trust in your heart, you will, and if you can’t, it will be the end of your courtship. That’s all I can tell you.”
101
Talya was zipping her black skirt when she heard a knock at the door. I should put the ‘do not disturb’ sign on the knob—I can’t even dress in peace now.
“Who is it?” She pulled the shirt over her head. God, I’ll be glad when tomorrow night comes. She opened the door without waiting for an answer.
“Hassan!” she said, letting him in, “I thought you were getting ready to go down and meet James,” when she saw that he hadn’t changed his clothes.
“No, not yet, I need to talk to you.” Here comes the storm I was dreading this afternoon.
“Okay, let’s sit down then—”
However, before she had a chance to make her way to the living room, Hassan grabbed her by the arm a questioning look in his eyes. “Talya?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“Do you love me?”
“No, Hassan, I don’t love you, I adore you. Does that answer your question?”
Her mocking eyes didn’t leave any doubt in Hassan’s mind that Talya was playing games with his feelings. Nonetheless, he asked, “Then why are you acting the way you do with Hjamal? You feel something for the man, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. I appreciate him. He may be a misguided maniac, and an egotistical, obsessive man (to put it mildly), but I can’t help admiring what he’s done or what he’s planning to do in Sabodala.”
“And I hate his guts.”
“Well, now that we’ve made a clean breast of our feelings toward Mr. Hjamal, can you go and get dressed.”
“No, not yet, I need to know one more thing before we go and meet Monsieur Flaubert.”
“And what’s that?”
“Will you marry me?”
“I … I don’t know.”
Then, all of a sudden, Hassan turned on his heels and left Talya without another word. God, please help me.
102
They reached the terrace restaurant by the pool at nearly seven o’clock. James was waiting for Hassan and Talya at the bar, a drink in hand. He turned toward them when they came down the long flagstone steps.
“Hello, you two!” He waved at the two of them. “Let’s get a table before this place gets too busy. What would you like to drink, Talya? Hassan?”
“I’ll have a glass of Chablis, thanks….” Talya was looking around her to see if Samir, or Mohammed perhaps, were already sitting somewhere near the beach.
“Just an orange juice for me, thank you,” Hassan said, watching Talya.
James ordered the drinks and they went to sit at the same table they had occupied at lunch.
The wind was up as it was on most nights. The lampoons, dangling from the bamboo rafters beneath the overhanging thatch, were swinging fiercely at every gust. The tree trunk, encased in the cement floor, served as a single supporting foot to each table, and the wrought-iron chairs were heavy enough to withstand any blowing from a windy night. Unless for a tidal wave crashing the place, Talya didn’t think they had anything to worry by way of furniture flying about.
Once they were sitting in front of their drinks, James said, “I bet you’re anxious to know what I wanted to talk to you about, aren’t you, Hassan?”
“A little, yes, I must admit, I am curious.”
“I’ll put it as delicately as I know how. And by the way, I don’t want to hear a peep out of you, Talya.” James looked at her, waiting for her to jump in. She didn’t say the word he was expecting to hear. She just smiled and Hassan grinned.
“As I was saying, I am going to put this as delicately as I can, Hassan. Are you in love with Talya?” That was as delicately as he could?
“But—” Hassan smiled and shook his head at hearing another ‘but’ from Talya.
“Talya!” James exclaimed, admonishing her interruption. “Well, are you?” he insisted, looking at Hassan fixedly.
“I expected the question because it has become obvious to everyone, I suppose, that we have very strong feeling for each other and—”
“I’m not talking about ‘strong feelings’. I’m talking about loving her. Do you?”
“James, I’m surprised at your intrusion….” Talya gawked at her boss.
He held her gaze meaningfully. “When two of my employees are getting involved in the most awkward, if not dangerous circumstances, I don’t think a little intrusion from me is going to do any harm.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” Watch your mouth, Talya.
“You have to understand something; I’m extremely concerned about your future.” James peered into Talya’s eyes as if to make sure his words hit the mark. “We’ve made plans this morning, and to carry out these plans we need to have you with your feet firmly planted on the ground. I can’t have you running the show with your head in the clouds.”
“Don’t you think I haven’t thought about that? This afternoon you mentioned something I hadn’t expected. You said you wanted me to come back and head these projects—” Her voice faltered. Talya was hurt more than she would ever want to admit. “Good God, don’t you know by now, that I wouldn’t let anything distract me from doing my job? Believe me; I have no intention of blowing my chances here just because I’m infatuated with someone.”
“Under normal circumstances, I’d say yes, you would. But this is different. You’re not in Vancouver in a nice, comfortable office. You’re at the edge of the Sahara for God’s sake. And you’re involved with a Muslim man. I’m sorry, Hassan. This is not meant to be derogatory. I just need Talya to face facts.” Hassan bent his head and made no reply.
“Me, face facts? You want me to face facts?” Talya cried out in utmost disbelief. “Why don’t you ask Hassan to face facts?” She had enough of this. “I think I will have dinner in my room! I need to go and face facts.” At that, she got up, leaving her companions blurting out some sort of apologies, and went back to her apartment.
Hassan wanted to run after the woman he loved, but he couldn’t—not in front of James. That would have been out of place. It would have demonstrated to his ‘new employer’ that he had no restraint when it came to pursuing Talya.
As they watched her marching back up the steps, Hassan said, “How long have you known Talya?”
“Almost two years, why?”
“Did you ever see her like this?”
“No, nor have I seen her much outside of our office. Why?”
“Because, and to answer your question, yes, I am in love with her and I feel totally responsible for her current behaviour. I knew, or I could sense that there was more than friendship between us and I pushed her into a corner. When she responded, I went off the deep end.” Hassan lowered his gaze and continued to twirl the swizzle stick in his juice.
“Thank you for your honesty, Hassan. I want Talya to find peace. She’s had a very troubled childhood—”
“Yes, Mohammed told me about that.”
“You mean, Monsieur Fade? How does he know about Talya’s past?”
“It’s a long story. But, at some point, Mohammed had to run a background check on her and although he couldn’t tell me much, he led me to understand that her life had not been simple.” Hassan drank his glass empty.
“I don’t know much about her myself,” James admitted, “because she won’t talk about it. All I know is that there is more to her than meets the eye.”
After a moment spent in silence, Hassan got up. “I think I’ll get myself another juice. Do you want something?”
“Another scotch will be nice, thank you.”
Hassan was standing by the bar, when he saw Samir walk down the steps looking round to find them.
“Hey, Samir,” Hassan called out. “We’re sitting by the beach. Do you want something?”
“Yes, since you’re buying, I’ll have a large one of whatever is on offer. Where’s Talya?” He had noticed that James was the only person sitting at their table.
“She went back to her room.”
“What? What happened?” Samir looked at Hassan a flash of resentment in his eyes.
“Come and sit down, we’ll tell you.”
“Don’t bother. I’ll find out for myself. Just keep my juice cold will you? I’ll be back.”
Samir walked away toward the hotel once again.
“Didn’t I see Samir just now? Doesn’t he want to join us?” James asked.
Hassan put the glasses down on the table. “He’s gone back to get Talya.”
“How’s he going to do that? She’s probably sulking right now. I bet he won’t get anywhere.”
“Don’t be too sure about that. Samir is a Touareg. He is a nomad, a man of the desert. Talya knows this. She’s been brought up revering their freedom and their word of wisdom. She knows he will bring her peace. If for no one else, for him she’ll open her door. I’m sure of it.”
“You seem to know a lot more about that childhood of hers than you led on.”
“No, it’s not what I know it’s what I see. The way she behaves when she’s with him or with elders of our faith. Her reverence wasn’t learned, as an actor would learn a part. Her every gesture, every word comes from her heart. She is good—”
“Don’t I know it….” James looked down at his drink musingly.
“Then why are you so abrupt when it comes to her emotions?”
“And you’re not? I saw the way you look at her when it comes to dealing with Hjamal—”
“When it comes to him, I can see she feels something for the man. And it’s difficult for me to accept it. I fear that he’ll turn on her. Somehow I can’t get it out of my mind that he’s going to hurt her.”
“Yes, I know and that’s what worries me. You heard what I said this afternoon.” James paused then looked up from his glass to Hassan. “How does Samir feel about Hjamal? Maybe he could make her see that she should be cautious with him, especially when she’s going to have to work with him.”
“We’ll ask him when they get back.”


103
When Talya closed the door, she was in tears. She couldn’t believe the way James had treated her. “Face facts,” he said. Well, if that’s not pointing the finger at the wrong person. Couldn’t he see what this was all about? Hassan being in love with me—that was a laugh. All he wants is a wife to keep and to own. He couldn’t care less about what I feel. He just wants me because I am white like his mother, just like a feather to put on his cap.
She heard a knock at the door. That better not be him, or he’ll get an ear-full from the one ‘who needs to face facts’. She flung the door opened and saw Samir. God, what now?
He stood there, looking down at her. “May I intrude?”
“Yes, why don’t you—everyone else does,” she flared, although Samir was the one person Talya wanted to see. She knew he understood how she felt.
“I see Allah hasn’t appeased your anger.” The words had been spoken with softness and understanding.
“No, Samir, He hasn’t. He’s probably turning away right now and saying Hassan and I are hopeless.”
“I don’t think he would be one to deprive you of hope, Talya. You’re the one doing that.”
“Don’t start scolding me will you? I’ve had enough for one night.”
“Again, you’re putting the blame on the wrong one.”
“Me? Am I not the one who’s been facing facts all this time? Am I not the one who told Hassan to stay away? Am I not the one who rejected his advances…?”
“So, you’re blaming the world for their misunderstanding? All of these rejections you’re speaking of, aren’t you the one who proffered them? Such as you are rejecting my scolding right now?”
“Sure, because I am the one who’s trying to keep in touch with reality. Not unlike some people who are forever asking the impossible.”
“You mean Hassan asking you to marry?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean. Then I turn around and my boss is telling me that I should face facts and that I should keep my head out of the clouds so that I could manage my future.”
“Talya, listen to me. There is no need for your frustration. Let men speak. They have nothing better to do and you of all people should know this. Men only speak many words, which make no sense, and women listen to engender truth. So why don’t you come with me and face these men who speak many words so that you can engender truth?”
It was as if Talya had heard her father speak. They had been standing on the terrace and now she threw herself in his arms to feel the peace that her father used to give her in his embrace—too long ago.
After a moment, Samir said, “Let’s go back, Talya,” releasing her gently.
“Don’t you think I should let them brew for the night?”
“And let me go down alone to face these two imbeciles?”
Talya opened her mouth and closed it again. Samir smiled.
She didn’t think James or Hassan would have liked Samir calling them ‘imbeciles’. She knew what Samir meant though.
“All right, just let me wash my face. I don’t want them to know that I cried.”

104
A few minutes later, Samir and Talya were sitting at the table with James and Hassan. Talya chose to sit between Samir and James, and across from Hassan.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to come back, Talya,” James rushed to say. “I’m sorry for flying off the handle like I did—”
“It’s okay….” Talya cut him off with a faint smile. “Forget it, shall we? Let’s talk about something else.”
“Samir, Hassan tells me you’re a Touareg,” James began, an inquisitive look on his face. “For the average Westerner, a Touareg, or any Bedouin for that matter, is a man of mystery. Are you? A man of mystery, I mean.”
Samir seemed to have expected the question. He smiled. “Yes, that’s what people call me: a Touareg. I am an Imouchar-Imajeren to be precise. This is a noble order.” I knew it. “In the majority of cases, the lineage dates back to the eleventh century. At present, we are called “Kel Oulli”—people who tend goats—in Berber language. My family, however, does not raise or tend flocks. We still transport goods and people throughout the Sahara and the Sahel to serve remote communities located mainly in the oases where they have farming plots. Their meagre plantations often do not raise enough crop revenue to provide for their modest living, so my family tries to supplement their requirements with some of life’s necessities.”
Talya was fascinated.
“Very interesting indeed.” James was looking at Samir with renewed awareness. “What about your social setting, is it mostly as in the rest of Islam?”
“No, it is not—far from it, in fact.” Everyone at the table stared at the man whose nobility became obvious by the minute. “The main difference resides perhaps, in the way we treat women.” Samir shot a meaningful glance in Hassan’s direction. “The Touareg woman enjoys a privilege status whereby she benefits of autonomy unheard of in the rest of Islam. Men are due to listen to her. Our tent, or the family home, belongs to her. If she were to dismiss her husband for some reason, or any man in the family, the man would be ousted without recourse.”
Talya’s mouth fell open. She had no idea. The words Samir spoke earlier made all the sense in the world now. “Women listen to engender truth ...”
“Moreover,” Samir went on, “and perhaps more importantly, Touaregs are monogamous—we marry only once and do not have harems such as most of Muslim men do.” It was James’s turn to look at the Touareg agape. How ignorant we are. Samir then turned his head to Talya. “Would you like to go and have dinner somewhere else?”
She raised an eyebrow. “We…? Huh…, and where would we go?”
James and Hassan locked their eyes on him, somewhat taken aback at the unexpected invitation.
“Have you forgotten? I’ve been here before,” Samir replied with a grin. “Can I borrow your car, Hassan?”
“My car? Don’t you want us to go together?”
“No, Hassan. It is time for you to realize that this woman is not yours yet, and she won’t be yours until you step aside and let her accept your love with graceful and peaceful thought. You should know the way of Islam,” Samir added with reproof in his voice. He turned to James. “Monsieur Flaubert, if you don’t mind, I will take this woman away for a while. She needs to be reminded that you care for her and that her work here will only be done properly if she listens to your words.”
“I’m glad for your patience with Talya. By all means, Samir, please go,” James replied.
He watched Talya and Samir walking away—wise fellow, very wise indeed.
When the two men were alone again, they looked at one another and laughed. In the gentlest way, they both had been told to mind their manners.
A few moments later, they decided the night was getting colder and dinner should be better enjoyed in the restaurant.
When they walked in, Hassan was surprised to find Mohammed alone, finishing his appetizer.
“Mohammed? How are you? May I introduce you to Monsieur Flaubert? James, this is Mohammed Fade—and just let him be a friend for tonight. All of his lengthy titles are tiresome.”
“I’m honoured,” Mohammed said, rising from his seat.
“Same here,” James replied, shaking hands with the Prime Minister’s counsellor.
“Hassan, where is Talya?”
“She’s off to have dinner with Samir.”
“Maybe you should explain. What have you done?”
“I would have to say I’m guilty for Talya’s frustration and departure,” James interposed, looking down at the floor.
“I don’t believe that could be entirely true…, but why don’t you sit down and join me since I’ve only started.”

105
As they were driving toward the suburbs, Talya wondered why she accepted so readily to get away.
“I think it’s about time you revisit the past,” Samir said, shooting a fleeting glance at the woman sitting beside him. “Perhaps then you will understand your future a lot better.”
“Revisit the past? Where are we going to do that? Where are we going?”
“To the house of a friend of mine, she’s a mother and a good woman.”
Talya remained silent the rest of the way. Samir’s words had enveloped her mind with soothing peace, yet confusion had mobilized her thoughts.
They went toward the Stadium and then took a sandy road winding its way behind it. In what could be qualified by North American standards as a ‘middle class neighbourhood’, the houses were lined up on either side of hilly streets covered with sand. The street cleaners would have a field day going through this multitude of beach-like drives.
They stopped in front of one of the houses near a corner. Samir parked the car beside the front door. As Talya was walking around the vehicle, an ageing woman came out and stood on the front stoop. She was dressed in a bou-bou gown with a headscarf made out of the same pinkish fabric as her dress. When she saw Samir, she came toward him arms extended, and smiled broadly.
She embraced him and kissed him on both cheeks. “Samir, my child, how good to see you. Please come in.” She opened the door and led the way into her home.
“Mama Lea, I have come with my friend. If you permit it, we would like to have supper with you?”
The woman had the allure of a matriarch. She looked at Talya appraisingly and smiled. Her gentle eyes were inquisitive. They revealed the questions she didn’t want to ask, apparently afraid to offend the man she called ‘my child’.
“And who might you be?” She had her folded hands resting on her ample bosom, looking at Talya as if to say to a child, “and please don’t lie.”
“I am Talya Kartz, Mama Lea. My friend brought me here. I am grateful to be permitted to enter your home. But if your table is too crowded already, I will go and will not partake of supper.”
“Well, Talya Kartz, I am honoured to have you in my home, and my table will not be crowded tonight, so dinner will be served and if you wish to eat, you shall.”
They sat at the table in the middle of a courtyard-like atrium. The house was a two-storey building. The partly covered courtyard, front door and staircase leading to the upper floor, separated two rows of rooms. At the back of the atrium, there was an open charcoal pit and griddle. A tap, over a washbasin and low counter, had been installed against the far wall, where several pots and basins were piled ready for a wash. The fish was baking and the rice tub was steaming. Squares of basbusah (semolina cooked and baked in sugar syrup) were ready for dessert on a side table. A half a dozen children were sitting on the ground playing cards. Three young women were going to and from the close-by kitchen.
Samir had been right. Talya was revisiting the past—everything in front of her eyes was dragging her back to a place she had wanted to forget—the food, the children, the aromas whiffing past her and the table in the courtyard….
“Please have some tea, Talya,” Mama Lea said, pouring her a glass of kinkilliba from a jug on a tray. “The children will come and visit later, but I would like you to meet my eldest son.”
“Oh, is Ishmael here?” Samir asked surprised.
“Oh yes, he’s just come back a week ago.” Mama Lea got up from the table. She went to one of the rooms and opened the door. They could hear noises and laughter from inside. Ishmael was watching a game show on TV.
Samir got up and went to talk to the young man.
While Mama Lea went to attend to the last of the dinner preparations, Talya looked at the children playing on the floor. Their laughter, chatters, all seem to draw her back to where she grew up. She was perhaps twelve years old then. Her friend, Leah, had invited her to have dinner at her house. She was the daughter of the local pharmacist. Talya remembered sitting and playing cards with her friend and the other children in the house. The cooking, the aroma … all of a sudden the dream died in front of her eyes. The joy was shattered and the happiness vanished with it—she was only fourteen … Why, Oh God, why did they do this to me?
106
The three men had a quiet dinner. They talked mostly about the two projects at the forefront of their thoughts. They made plans for the future. Although Mohammed had difficulties leading James and Hassan away from their inquisitive comments about her past, very little was said about Talya.
When the meal was over, James was the first to retire. As he walked down the corridor toward his room, he saw Johan standing by the door.
“Ah, I was waiting for you. I’d heard you arrived in town. Can we talk?” Johan said all at once, while James was putting his key card in the electronic lock.
“By all means. Somehow, I knew you’d wanted to talk to me. Come in, and make yourself comfortable.”
Once inside, James took his jacket off and draped it over a chair beside the table near the terrace window. Johan sat across from him.
“So, what did you want to talk about?”
“You know very well what I want to say,” Johan answered. He looked tired. His eyes were watery and the lines of his face had deepened with fatigue and worries.
“Well, from what I gathered from Talya, you had a hard time of it.”
“You could say that….”
For the next two hours, the two men talked about the past, and Richard’s murder.
107
When Talya got back to her room, it was nearly midnight. She had forgotten all of the things that brought her to Dakar, and she had forgotten about tomorrow.
As she closed the door, she felt someone was in the apartment. Suddenly her heart started thumping. She stood frozen in the passage. The only light came from the opened terrace door. There were only shadows and shapes of familiar things. She took a few steps to her left to switch on the bar light and then she saw him.
Talya recognized him immediately. Abdul Rasheed was standing by the dining room table. He was smiling. She ran toward the bathroom but she wasn’t quick enough. He had the agility of a panther, given his weight. He leaped over the sofa and tackled her from behind, slamming her body onto the floor. In an instant, the man was on her, holding her down, his paw on her mouth, his nails piercing her cheek and saddling his obese buttocks across her abdomen. She could hardly move. He had the strength of a bull, and puffing and salivating like one. He was monstrous.
“You’ve done the wrong thing, lady,” he said, his voice rasping with fury. “You’re going to pay for it now.” He ripped her blouse opened quickly and put his left knee on one of her arms. In a flash, Talya saw Rheza’s battered face. She was not going to let him do that to her. She looked in his sick eyes glaring at him with rage.
With his free hand, he tried to unbuckle his belt and that’s when she saw her chance. Adrenaline fuelled her left hand with such force that as soon as she scratched his face, he started bleeding, and screamed with pain. As his glasses fell, he put both hands on his face while releasing enough pressure to let Talya’s right arm slip from under his knee. She pushed him backward, extricating herself from under him. He rolled on his side, while she got to her feet.
She had her hand on the doorknob, when Rasheed was upon her again. He slammed her against the door and turned her around, her body clamped between him and the doorframe. One arm across one of her shoulders and his hand firmly planted on her mouth, he unzipped his fly and was now lifting her skirt. Talya writhed, gripping his other arm while trying to prevent his fumbling hand from reaching under her panties. Tears of terror ran down her cheeks—Talya was re-living her childhood nightmare. Rasheed’s eyes were ablaze with lust. She glared at him while trying to shake her head free from the clasping hand. Taking a heaving breath in horror, as she felt his genitals touching her between her legs, she grabbed his exposed testicles and squeezed. Rasheed let out a shout, doubled over, and slumped to his knees.
Talya flung the door open and ran down the hall in the arms of a stranger midway to the elevator.
“Madame Kartz, are you all right?” He held her by her shoulders and peered into her eyes. How did he know my name? “What’s happening? Is there something wrong?”
“Yes… there is a man … Abdul … he attacked me… He’s in my room—”
“You stay right here and don’t move. I’ll go see what’s going on.”
As the man was running down the hall, Talya saw Rasheed come out of her apartment still holding his crotch, limping, and hopping, all in a seemingly desperate attempt to reach the back exit. The man wasn’t fast enough—Rasheed disappeared through the door.
“Oh no!” Talya cried out in despair. She was shaking, trembling, sweating, shivering and all the rest of it, and then nothing. She fell to the floor unconscious.
108
“Azhar? This is Khumar. Madame Kartz has been attacked in her room. The man has escaped down the back stairs. She needs assistance right now. Get the doctor and Maitre Sangor.”
“That’s a roger. We’ll be right there.”
Azhar first alerted the police guards on the grounds to be on the lookout for a man trying to escape arrest. Next, he called the desk, telling them that he needed a doctor immediately to the sixth floor and then ran up to Hassan’s room. He banged so hard on the door that he probably woke the entire neighbourhood—but that was none of his concern now. He waited a couple of minutes before banging on it again.
“Yes, what is it?” Hassan said from behind the door, his voice groaning with sleep.
“Maitre Sangor, please open the door.”
“Yes, what is it? Hassan repeated as he opened the door to the caller. He was in his robe and had no idea who the man facing him was.
“Madame Kartz has been attacked—”
109
He was about to get into the shower, when he heard someone run down the hallway. He went to the door and listened. A man’s fist was pounding on a door. Instinctively, Samir knew something was wrong. He had escorted Talya to her room, but he had not gone in with her, enough people had imposed their presence on her already. He did not want to be another on the list. He continued to listen.
“Madame Kartz has been attacked—” That’s all Samir needed to hear. He knew she had been in danger and he had tried to tell her, but now was not the time to dwell on the past. He had to find Rasheed and fast! He knew Rasheed had come back. To Samir, there had been no other conclusion; the man would not have crawled back into his hole. He was ruined. Talya had seen to it. He had lost money, pride, dignity and worst of all; his drug operation was now in shambles. Samir had seen more into the murder of Richard Gillman than the mere discarding of an unwanted hand. Talya needed to be eliminated—she knew too much. Tomorrow she was to open a dam of revelations that would send Rasheed to prison—or worse.
110
“Say what? Who are you?” Hassan blurted bewildered.
“Azhar, Maitre, but that’s not important. I’m on assignment from the embassy. Madame Kartz has been attacked and we need you upstairs.”
“Let me get some clothes on. Come in. Come in. Have you told anyone else? Did you call Monsieur Flaubert?” As he was slipping into his trousers and shirt, Hassan was trembling with rage and dread. What happened? Who could have attacked her? He needed to call Mohammed.
“We need you upstairs,” Azhar insisted. “The doctor is on his way. I’ll call the other people after her safety is insured.”
“Who was it? Who attacked her?”
“We don’t know yet. She lost consciousness before she could tell my colleague.”
“Let’s go.” Hassan was already rushing through the door, slamming it on the way out.
111
Grabbing the shirt from the seat where he had dropped it, Samir opened his door cautiously, careful that the hall was now empty, and made his way to the back exit and down the stairs to the gardens. He had no time to lose.
The grass was soft underfoot, which made his progress silent. The light from the spotlights encased in the ground was enough for Samir to peer into the distance without much problem. He stopped beside an ortensia bush and crouched into the shadows. He wanted to watch and familiarize himself with his surroundings. He needed to become one with the night and listen to the sounds. A minute passed and he heard footfall ten yards directly in front of him. The man’s shoes creaked ever so slightly at each footstep. Then the door, not far from him, opened and slammed shut; a man ran in the direction of the hedges. Samir presumed he was a security agent. He had seen him roaming the hotel corridors earlier that day. Suddenly there was a commotion up ahead. Several officers swarmed the grounds. He heard someone yell orders and then it was all over. Two officers were dragging Rasheed out of the bushes. He had been punched senseless. Relieved, Samir stood up, went through the back door and climbed the five flights of stairs separating him from his room.
Once he had showered, he went to the balcony and sat in the lounge chair for a long while.
112
Talya was still lying on the floor attended by whom Hassan assumed to be the house doctor. He knelt at her side and looked at her. The pain he felt was indescribable. Her new outfit was ripped down the front. Her right arm showed signs of heavy bruising, and her cheek was bleeding.
“How is she, Doctor?”
“She is in shock. We need to get her to her bed right now. Can you carry her?”
“Yes, of course.” Hassan slid his arms beneath her limp body and lifted her.
While walking down the hall, from over his shoulder he saw Mohammed and James rush down the corridor. Reaching Hassan, James asked quietly, “Who did this?”
“I don’t know.”
“No questions right now, gentlemen. I want her in bed and all of you out of here,” the doctor ordered when they were in the bedroom of Talya’s apartment. Hassan laid her on the bed and wrapped the bedspread around her.
“I’ve called for a nurse. She’ll be here any minute. You can go now.”
“What’s going to happen now, Doctor? Why—”
“She’s going to come out of it soon, I think. Her heart couldn’t cope with the sudden pressure. My name is Doctor Simeon by the way, and you are?”
“Maitre Hassan Sangor.”
“Okay, Maitre, I’ll ask you to wait in the other room, would you mind?”
“Sure, I’ll be here if you need me.” Hassan felt utterly miserable and responsible.
In the living room, he found James and Mohammed sitting on the sofa. They stood up as he came out.
“What happened?” Mohammed asked the tone of his voice grave with concern.
“All I know is that a man attacked her. Apparently she passed out before giving his name.”
“That’s not quite correct, Maitre,” Khumar said as he came into the apartment, closing the door behind him.
“And who are you?” Hassan was staring at the intruder.
“I’m Khumar, an agent from the embassy.”
“Khumar, I’m Monsieur Flaubert, Madame Kartz’s employer and this is Monsieur Fade from the Prime Minister’s office in Mali. Let’s have a seat.”
“I know, I was given your names and info on each of you earlier today, and I’m pleased to meet all of you.” The four men sat down.
“You said she did say who it was.”
Khumar turned to Hassan. “Yes, his name is Abdul Rasheed and we’ve caught him on the grounds trying to get away.”
“You mean, Rasheed actually came in here and Madame Kartz let him in?” Mohammed was astonished.
“No. We suspect he let himself in with his own key. From what the clerk told us downstairs, there were several keys handed out for this apartment and we found one of them in Rasheed’s pocket.”
“Who have you alerted about this?” James couldn’t understand how this security agent had let this happen.
“Just the three of you and the ambassador.”
“What about the police commissioner?” Hassan asked.
“He’s been told by the sergeant who caught him.”
“What do we do now?”
“Nothing until morning, Monsieur Fade, then, I’m sure the ambassador and the commissioner will give us some instructions. Apparently, we still have a murderer on the loose and—”
“But, we know who he is…” Hassan flared. Then catching himself, “Or I should say whom Madame Kartz suspects. So can’t the commissioner arrest the man for questioning?”
Khumar shook his head. “Maitre, you know very well that it’s up to the commissioner to decide. We can’t intervene. It’s a matter for the Dakar police.” He was a short fellow, but his bull-like stature seemed to give him the power his height had denied him. “In any case, I think Madame Kartz is safe for now. And if you like to go back to your rooms until morning that’s fine. We’ll be watching and the police are on hand now to wait till tomorrow.”
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Khumar got up and went to answer it. “Who is it?”
“Lisa, the nurse, may I come in?”
He opened the door to a tall Peule woman. “All right, come in, they’re in the bedroom on the left.” She was wearing a uniform and carrying what looked like an overnight bag.
“Hello….” She nodded and smiled at the three men when she passed the living room and entered the bedroom discreetly.
“Monsieur Flaubert, Monsieur Fade, as I said there is no need for you to stay here. Actually, I would prefer for you to return to your rooms so I would know where everyone is,” Khumar said to both men. “I’ll wait for you by the door to see you out. I have to get back on duty.”
Hassan remained seated but his companions rose from the sofa.
“Will you call us when she comes out of it, please?” James’s voice was faltering with untold emotions.
“I will. I will look after her. And I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?” Mohammed looked down at Hassan.
“Because I didn’t stay with her tonight, I should have—”
“This is no time for self-recrimination.” Mohammed put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Who was to know Rasheed would come back?”
“Yes, Monsieur Fade is right, Hassan. You’re not responsible for this.”
“But I can’t help feeling that if I had been there, none of this would have happened.”
“When this is over, we’ll need to have a talk about this.” James looked down at the man whom Talya only allowed to love her from a distance.
“I appreciate your concern, and I think I should perhaps step aside, because she needs protection and I don’t seem to be able to provide it for her.” Hassan shook his head, distraught.
“You’re not getting this, are you?” Mohammed’s voice had a trace of frustration in it. “I am sure stepping aside is not the answer. And, we’re not talking about marriage either. What we are talking about is you being a companion to Talya, the man beside her who looks after her and who helps her to accomplish what she’s destined to do.”
“Like Hagar searching for water—”
“Exactly. Talya needs your guidance, she needs you to show her the way for her to work with peace in her heart.”
James remained silent during the exchange, admiring the way Mohammed led Hassan on the path of understanding. The ways of Islam were a mystery to him but at this moment, he could see a glimmer of light at the end of this tunnel of confusion.
“If you don’t mind then, I’ll go to bed,” James said. “Will you be there at the meeting at nine?”
“Yes, of course. I’ll be there.” Mohammed nodded, following James out of Talya’s apartment.
113
Being slapped gently on the cheeks, when she opened her eyes, everything was a blur at first. Talya saw a man bend over her and a woman in white uniform standing at his side.
Talya pushed the man’s hand away. “What happened? Where’s Rasheed?” she slurred, regaining quickly a memory of the fight and her hurrying down the corridor.
“You had a bad shock, Madame Kartz. You’ll be all right. This is Lisa”—the man pointed to the woman—“your nurse. I’m Doctor Samuel. Do you want anything before going to sleep?”
“Yes... Where’s Maitre Sangor?”
“He’s out here; I’ll get him for you,” Lisa said, going to the door.
“Maitre? Madame Kartz wants you. Would you come in, please?”
Hassan was already in the room before the nurse finished the sentence. The doctor stopped him before he got closer. “Hold on, Maitre Please, no questions and no talking about what happened,” he whispered in Hassan’s ear. Hassan nodded in reply.
Talya could feel her cheek burning and her arm (and her entire body for that matter) aching but other than that, she couldn’t feel anything wrong with her. She wanted to get up to wash off Rasheed’s smell from her body before throwing up in revulsion.
As she tried to set her foot on the floor Hassan came to her, took her in his arms and caressed her head as she nestled it on his chest. “Don’t, not yet. I’ll be right here. Don’t move an inch. I’ll bring whatever you need.”
“But… I want to take a shower. I can still smell him. He was all over me—”
“Yes, the nurse will look after you. I’ll be right outside—”
Talya reclined on her pillow and started sobbing. The nightmare had come back. The evil of rape was looking at her—laughing. She opened her eyes and for a fraction of a second, she peered into Hassan’s compassionate face, not seeing him. Then she screamed, “Get out! Get out!” and began hiccupping between renewed sobs.
“Please, Maitre, leave now,” Doctor Samuel said gently.
Distraught beyond reason, Hassan marched out of the room, slamming the apartment door on his way out.
114
“Come in,” Mohammed said as he opened the door to Hassan. His face was sombre.
“I saw her. She has been raped, Mohammed—”
“Come and sit down. I’ve called for some tea to be brought up.”
“Did you hear me? She’s been raped!” Hassan repeated, shouting now.
Mohammed led Hassan to the lounge chairs. “I heard you… Let’s sit down on the terrace—”
“I’ll kill him, Mohammed, I swear to you—”
“No you won’t. The courts will take care of him.”
“I want to feel him dying at my hands…” Hassan’s words trailed off as his lips trembled and tears rolled down his cheeks.
Mohammed, who was now standing beside his friend, rubbed Hassan’s back. Words failed him. He, too, was shocked. He, too, wanted Rasheed dead. Never mind that someone else may have killed Richard, Rasheed had raped twice now and he would have to pay for his crimes—with his head.
115
At nine o’clock, Khumar opened the doors, letting Hassan, Mohammed and Rheza into one of the hotel’s conference rooms, which had been reserved for the meeting. Here, they found James, Johan and Samir already eating their breakfast. Samir looked solemn and Johan, as usual, had his nose in a cup of coffee.
James smiled when he saw them come through the doors. “Good morning, Monsieur Fade, Hassan. Have a seat and I’ll go and get myself some more juice.” He got up.
“Monsieur Flaubert, before you do, please allow me to introduce my niece, Madame McLean.”
“Yes, of course. Madame McLean, I’m pleased to meet you at long last.” James extended a hand. Rheza was dressed in a yellow bou-bou gown with a matching scarf, which she used to hide her mouth and cheeks.
“Monsieur Flaubert, the pleasure is mine,” she replied timidly, shaking hands with him.
“Settle down everyone, I’ll be right with you.” James then walked to the sideboard set in front of the terrace doors, which offered the typical continental breakfast spread—cereals, bread and pastry baskets, coffee and tea urns and a few jugs of juice—at the ready for the guests.
They all knew each other now but somehow, none of them seemed in a conversing mood. They waited for James to return to his seat.
The server came into the room in the meantime, and asked the newcomers if they wanted anything from the restaurant menu. They asked for tea and coffee. He fetched two cups of coffee from the urn, for the two men, and a teapot, which he set in front of Rheza. She lifted the lid nervously—her hand trembled. Mohammed turned to her. He was visibly concerned.
“Hassan, how is she?” Samir asked from across the table, not letting his manner or his voice betray his utter rage and frustration.
“She’ll be okay I think, Samir.” Hassan hung his head meaningfully. “The nurse is with her.” He made no other comments as he saw James turn back toward the table and look in the direction of the conference room’s doors. Everyone turned and saw Talya and the police commissioner walk into the room.
She had come down with Chief Mubarek, a kindly-looking fellow from Algiers, with a delicately trimmed moustache and a baldhead—he reminded her of Hercule Poirot. He had woken her at eight o’clock as Lisa, objecting to his presence vociferously, accompanied him to her room at his insistence. He wanted her statement. Talya agreed to give it to him on the one condition that he accompanied her to breakfast. Lisa reluctantly accepted to let Talya out of her care for an hour, and helped her to take a shower and dress in what ever she found in the wardrobe.
As they went through the doors, Talya saw James first and then all of the people sitting around the table. If I look as awful as I feel, there is no surprise at their staring at me.
Hassan turned around with a shudder and went to her.
“Talya. What on earth are you doing here?”
“Giving my statement to Chief Mubarek, what else?”
“You should be in bed—”
“Tell that to the Chief.” She looked up at Hassan and smiled. (Her face hurt.) “We made a deal. It was either this or going to the police station.”
“Talya, please come and sit with us,” Samir said. “You shouldn’t be here… But now that you are, let me get you something to eat.”
“No thanks, not now, but some juice would be nice.”
“Coming right up.” He got up and hurried to get her what she wanted.
Talya sat beside James. Samir set the glass of bissap juice in front of her, looked at her and smiled. He knew that once again a man had abused her. Talya returned the smile. “Thanks, Samir.”
“How are you feeling, Kiddo?” James asked quietly.
“I’m okay—nothing that a good night’s rest couldn’t cure, as they say.”
James shook his head, looking at the file in front of him. He then lifted his eyes as he heard another of his guests enter the room hesitantly—his gaze resting on Chief Mubarek.
“I’ve asked Monsieur Savoi to join us this morning,” James announced to the amazed gathering as he got up once again.
“Good morning, Monsieur Flaubert, your invitation was quite unexpected, but I’m glad to have been asked to join you.” Savoi grinned and extended a hand for James to shake, which he ignored.
“Good morning, Monsieur Savoi. Please have a seat. I believe you know everyone around the table except perhaps for Maitre Sangor, who is Carmine’s legal advisor in West Africa.” Hassan nodded toward the two men but didn’t say anything.
A moment later and while he was lost in thought, Hassan didn’t notice the arrival of the last guest. It was only when James pronounced the name that he acknowledged Hjamal was joining them. He took a seat across from Hassan and smiled amiably. Hassan said “good morning,” but didn’t return the smile.
Khumar, who had remained by the doors until now, approached James and whispered something in his ear. Both men then nodded and Khumar went back to lock the doors and to stand in front of them. Chief Mubarek nodded imperceptibly.
Once they were all settled in their seats, the commissioner at one end of the table and James at the other, Hassan got up and said, “Madame McLean, gentlemen, thank you for attending this meeting. What you are about to hear is only a summary of the events that took place in Canada, in Mali and Senegal from the time Carmine first became involved in several projects in Africa. This statement is by no means to be construed as allegations against anyone around this table. Chief Mubarek will advise you in turn of legal responsibilities as they may be presented to you.”
They all nodded in acknowledgement.
Opening the folder in front of him, James looked at every face around the table. Johan, Samir, Monsieur Savoi and Hassan sat side by side facing Talya, Rheza, her Uncle Mohammed and Hjamal. He began. “As you have heard, the following is Madame Kartz’s statement. Again, I impress upon you and repeat what Maitre Sangor has just said, nothing in this statement is to be construed as allegations, accusations or claims against anyone sitting at this table. He then turned his attention to Rheza. “Madame McLean, I’ll start with your story in particular because, as a lady, you deserve to be addressed first.” Rheza turned her face to look at James. The shame and the pain in her eyes were blatant.
“Almost three years ago, when your husband passed away, you inherited not only wealth but also knowledge. You lived and worked in New York. You knew exactly what ‘playing the stock market’ meant. You came back to Africa with this knowledge and a good deal of money. You made several mistakes, however, since you came home; one of them being to tell Monsieur Savoi, your uncle, about what you had learned in America.
“Actually, Madame McLean, your uncle is not as smart as you are, and as the saying goes, ‘a little knowledge is far worse than no knowledge at all’, and your uncle used the little he knew and began playing the game the ‘big boys’ play, wheeling and dealing with someone else’s money.” James shot a meaningful glance in Savoi’s direction.
“I met your uncle during a mining conference in New York two years ago. He was introduced to me as an agent, ready to facilitate government liaisons between the Mining Department in Mali and Carmine. The Directors of Carmine and I were interested in exploring the mining possibilities in West Africa. Monsieur Savoi offered the perfect open door to do just that. Grabbing the opportunity to make money unscrupulously, your uncle pretended to have sufficient knowledge of the business and the powerful contacts to enable Carmine to obtain some of the mining permits we may have wanted to explore in Mali.” Savoi actually smiled.
James ignored him and went on. “A few months later, I traveled to Mali and Senegal. In Mali, I signed an agreement with your uncle on May 1 of last year. In Senegal, I visited Sabodala. From that point on, all of you around this table were taken for what could be qualified as the most fantastic ride of your life.” Everyone stared, uncomprehending of what James had meant by that last comment.
“Carmine wanted nothing more than to explore some of the known gold deposits in Mali,” James was addressing Savoi directly this time. “Perhaps later, if these deposits were to reveal any sort of mining possibilities, each property on which these deposits resided, would have been the subject of extensive studies that may have led to the construction of a processing plant; a process of which you were unaware, Monsieur Savoi, or you chose to ignore. You then approached landowners in the region where prospective sites were located. You promised the moon to these people and demanded a fee in return for finding a mining partner for them. In turn, you went to the Department of Mines in Bamako and filed no less than twelve claims in the name of Carmine, each and every time making sure that a different department employee would be responsible for the processing of these applications.” Savoi was fidgeting and looking quite uneasy.
Raising his eyes to the gathering once again, James resumed, “However, not everyone can be swayed by money or snared by cunning. Monsieur Kane, the Head of that Department saw through the scheme and told Madame Kartz about it immediately upon her arrival in Mali, a few weeks ago. Maitre Sangor and Madame Kartz quickly redressed this situation, and with the capable assistance of the Minister of Mines in Mali, they filed one permit application prior to their coming down to Dakar.
“In the meantime, and weeks before Madame Kartz’s arrival on the scene, you, Monsieur Savoi, invested some of Madame McLean’s money into Carmine’s stock, and fed speculative information to the Toronto Stock Exchange via your friends in New York. This provoked a fluctuation in Carmine’s share prices, and we became worried. Between May and December of last year, Carmine sent nearly a half-a-million dollars to you, Monsieur Savoi.” James was looking fixedly at him. He tried to avert his eyes from his gaze. “However, we had nothing to show our shareholders by way of permits, claims or concessions to justify such expenditure, and things went from bad to worse.”
Until then Savoi had made an effort to stay silent, but now he could no longer contain his annoyance. “But I’ve given you people a full account—”
“Please, Monsieur Savoi,” James cut-in firmly. “There will be time enough later for you to give us further explanations. For now however, I’ll ask you to refrain from making any comments.”
Turning his face to Ahmed Hjamal, James said, “Now, I come to you, Monsieur Hjamal. Sir, you are an extraordinary man. You have done something not many people would dare doing in this day and age. You went to Sabodala several years ago, set up camp, and claimed the land to be yours. Why choose Sabodala? To find the answer to that question we have to go back into the past—your past, Monsieur Hjamal.
“As a young man you traveled throughout Africa in search of fame and fortune. You were not seeking any sort of wealth—no—you were looking for the kind of wealth one may acquire quickly without too much effort. During that period of your life, you were a smuggler. You smuggled gemstones from country to country.” In a flash, Talya recalled the little gem seller at the Dakar Artisan’s market.
“You bought and sold your loot in the most astute of fashion and, you became wealthy, very wealthy indeed. As for fame, you no longer wanted any. Smuggling is not one of those accomplishments that anyone would want shouted from rooftops. Slowly, your travels brought you back to your homeland—Senegal. Here, you soon realized that stones were not easily found but gold was. So, you switched career-paths. You bought a small truck and made your way through Senegal, Mali and Burkina-Faso. You were buying sacs of gold dust from the local ‘diggers’. You learned very quickly how to process this gold in a makeshift smelter that you had installed in the back of your truck—and you made more money. You didn’t stop there, however.
“You chose to claim the Sabodala property as yours because your recently acquired knowledge of gold exploitation told you that it was one of the best sites in Senegal where to establish a gold processing plant. And, since you are not a person to leave much to chance, you studied the old records at both Mining Departments in Dakar and in France. They confirmed your suspicions. In the mid-fifties, the French made substantial discoveries in that region. Therefore, you knew exactly where to plant your flag and did so without qualms.” At that point, James stopped long enough to take a sip of juice from the glass in front of him and then continued.
“Sabodala is in fact considered by many professional geologists as one of the most prospective sites in West Africa. It is said to contain no less than five sizeable gold deposits.
“Monsieur Hjamal, I put it to you, you knew the location of these deposits and you soon realized that one of them—the largest one—lied directly beneath the village of Sabodala.” Hjamal stared at James defiantly but remained silent. From across the table, Hassan had his eyes fixed on the man he had grown to hate.
“To recover this particular treasure, first you engaged Mr. Van Burren.” James, this time, turned to the man sitting on his right. “Johan Van Burren is an expert in many extraordinary trades. One of these is the handling and the detonating of explosives. At one point, Johan, apparently under your orders, Monsieur Hjamal, saw to the safe delivery of the first shipment of nitro-glycerine to the mine site. This was part of the two hundred kilos you had ordered and which was to be used to unearth the deposits I have described earlier.” Johan looked uncomfortable.
“I will not spend time in going into the details as to how this is usually done, I will however say this: Monsieur Hjamal, you were planning to create another open-pit mine out of the village of Sabodala and its surroundings.” James stopped. Hjamal was still staring. He knew where James was going and he was afraid of where he (Hjamal) would end up. However, James was relentless.
“Meanwhile, during one of your many journeys to Mali, you met Monsieur Savoi. The man told you about his dealings with Carmine. He actually boasted to you about his exploits on the Stock Exchange. You listened but did nothing about it, at first. By this time, you were too busy with the construction of your processing plant in Sabodala to pay any heed to such people as Monsieur Savoi.
“In the interim, another man crossed your path, Monsieur Abdul Rasheed. Monsieur Rasheed is a person who can be qualified as ‘useful’. He, too, has a troubled past. I will get to describe his activities later. Suffice to say for now, that Monsieur Rasheed has been doing everything that he felt was appropriate at the time, and that includes kidnapping and torture. But let’s continue retracing the events that brought us here today.” James paused once again and drank not a sip but enough to quench what must have been an ever-increasing thirst. He then resumed his narrative.
“To design and install a mill circuit usually takes time, effort, money and expertise. To take these items each in turn, I would say, Monsieur Hjamal, that you had time, you had the will to make the effort and you had money. But the one thing you were missing was expertise. Consequently, you started shopping around for the missing item. You went to conferences, exhibitions and visited mining companies in France and in North America. On these occasions, you met several interesting people and saw many displays of processing plants that could very well fit your design and purpose in Sabodala. However, since you wanted no one to share in the possible wealth that lay at your feet, you gleaned information from here and there, ultimately deciding to buy pieces of machinery from various suppliers, and a ball-mill from a very reputable North American company. You paid half the price in advance and signed documents to the effect that you promised to pay the rest, once the mill was installed and connected to the circuit at the mine-site.
“The mill, with all its necessary parts—except for its door—was shipped to Dakar and was laboriously brought to Sabodala in the spring of last year. This is when Richard Gillman arrived on the scene. Richard was a typical ex-pat. Early in his career, he was devoted to his work. You could have sent him everywhere or anywhere across the world to do a job and he would have done it, under whatever circumstances. In this case, however, the circumstances were more stressful than usual. And after years of traipsing from job-site to job-site, Richard developed a problem which ultimately cost him his life.”
James turned to Hjamal and said with emphasis, “Monsieur Hjamal, you had no right to take the man’s passport upon his arrival in Senegal. You had absolutely no right to have him endure the rigors of your ill-equipped compound in Sabodala, and foremost, you had no valid reason to detain him anywhere against his will. What’s more, you did all of those things without consideration for the repercussions. At present, you have only your conscience to answer to, for those misdeeds. There is no actual proof that any of this ever happened. Unfortunately, Richard is no longer here to tell us what really occurred during all those months he had been working on your project. He only left us a letter, which explains that his first sojourn in Senegal ended up in near disaster. He had to be escorted to the safety of his homeland with the assistance and the diligent services of the Canadian embassy. The rescue in itself proves, to some extent, that Richard had been prevented to leave this country of his own free will.” James took another sip of juice.
“Now, we come to the crucial point of this story. As I stated earlier, constructing a processing plant takes money, a lot of money. When you started, Monsieur Hjamal, you were comfortably wealthy, but as time passed, your spending was getting out of hand (hiring your personal Lear-Jet takes a lot of cash) and you began running out of funds. You didn’t have enough money left to pay the other half of the mill’s invoice and you had to think of a way of getting a cash flow rather quickly.
“Some could say that ‘you were sitting on a gold mine’ (literally) and that you could have used the ownership of such a valuable piece of property as collateral for obtaining a loan from any bank. To that suggestion, I would have to point out to everyone here, that Monsieur Hjamal has neither title nor deed to the Sabodala Property. Remember that he just decided one day to squat on the land and tell everybody it was soon to be his. To date, the property belongs to the villagers, to the people of Senegal in general, but not to Monsieur Hjamal in particular. Thus, sir, you were faced with a sizeable financial problem.” James paused again to let his statements sink in. Hjamal looked stern and yet embarrassed. James took a deep breath and continued.
“This is when you remembered your mere acquaintance, Monsieur Savoi. You recalled how the latter bragged about receiving money (hand-over-fist) from a gullible Canadian company for doing nothing more than playing the stock markets in New York and Toronto. Therefore, you called the man and offered him a partnership. You invited him to send you money in exchange for a share of the profits (yet to be made) in Sabodala. Monsieur Savoi has always been blinded at the sight of a dollar sign but when it came to wave a gold ingot at him, he was totally hopeless.”
Once again, Savoi wanted to interrupt James’s account. He gesticulated, blurted out some insults and was about to get up to leave. Samir, who sat beside him, brought him back down in his seat. James watched the scene for a moment and then went on with the story.
“Thus, a deal was struck and the money started flowing into the bottomless pit again. Everything seemed to go the right way for you both, gentlemen, until a few weeks ago. As I said, the directors of Carmine, and me in particular, became very nervous about the enormous amount of money we had sent to you, Monsieur Savoi, without seeing any result for our charity. I began asking questions. At one point, I even menaced to pay you a visit. That was very bad for business, wasn’t it, Monsieur Savoi?”
This time there was no word to be heard from ‘the accused’. He just stared at the wall across from where he sat.
“What happened next practically put the first nail in Richard Gillman’s coffin. You, Monsieur Hjamal, came to Canada. You thought that, if a stupid man like Monsieur Savoi could obtain money from Carmine, you could do one better—you could get Carmine to pay for the entire mining development, and then some. You portrayed yourself to be a wealthy proprietor from Senegal needing assistance in the construction of a gold processing plant. You wanted to hire Carmine to do the job for you. The irony of this ploy was that you made the trip using some of the money Monsieur Savoi had been sending you every month—our money, Monsieur Hjamal. However, I was not to be swindled. I refused to give you any form of assistance. I had visited your mining project, earlier in the spring. I knew there was no other processing plant under construction in the whole of Senegal and I very quickly put two-and-two together. I smelled a rat, but I never conceived the relation that existed between the two of you, gentlemen.
“Within a few weeks, Monsieur Hjamal, you got wind of Monsieur Savoi being in somewhat of a precarious position. Carmine was not sending any more money to his agent. So, you devised yet another devilish plan. You asked Monsieur Savoi to remain hidden in Mali (hidden from Madame Kartz, that is) until you would send for him to come down to Dakar to sort the matter out. And you, Monsieur Savoi did as bidden, and remained at your villa, presumably out of sight, in the suburbs of Bamako until called to come to Dakar.” James brushed his gaze by everyone in turn and took another breather.
After a moment, he went on, addressing Savoi in particular. “Unfortunately, you did not count on your niece following you. And, that’s exactly what she did. When you and your niece reached Dakar, separately at first, and then got in touch with Monsieur Hjamal and Abdul Rasheed, things got out of hand. Monsieur Hjamal, you ordered that Savoi and Madame McLean be ‘removed’. The worst part of it is that Monsieur Rasheed could not resist taking people to Sabodala and torture them. It is some sort of sadistic behaviour, which is only found in psychopaths. Monsieur Hjamal had only to say ‘I want so-and-so removed from sight’, Monsieur Rasheed would obey and promptly remove these people to the mine site.” James drank some juice again—the glass was nearly empty.
“After your little junket to Vancouver, Monsieur Hjamal, you went to Richard’s place—the latter had moved to Toronto by then—and you somehow convinced him to come back with you to Senegal. We know Richard was between jobs at that time, and to maintain his unfortunate drug addiction (however mild it was), he needed money. So he accepted what must have been a very alluring proposal.” Hjamal glared at James.
“In the meantime, Monsieur Rasheed, your associate, was very busy persuading Madame Kartz to side-step my directors’ decision, to come to Senegal to help matters along. That was an enormous mistake on his part. The first time Madame Kartz came to Dakar, Monsieur Rasheed was to meet her at the airport. Unbeknownst to you, Monsieur Hjamal, you were to meet her again—after being introduced to her in Vancouver—to discuss the possibilities of reaching an agreement between our companies. No one was at the airport when she arrived. She found that very strange, but she paid no more attention to the fact until you, Monsieur Savoi, disappeared along with your niece. Madame Kartz then began to suspect a connection existed between you, Monsieur Hjamal, and you, Monsieur Savoi.
“Soon afterwards, Abdul Rasheed made another mistake. He came to Bamako driving Madame McLean’s car. He came to Madame Kartz’s hotel and told Maitre Sangor and her that Rheza McLean and Monsieur Savoi were sending ‘their best regards.’ In fact, he was offering their safe return in exchange for assistance in bailing him and Monsieur Hjamal out of trouble. Her suspicions were then confirmed—there was a link between the two of you, gentlemen.
“When Abdul Rasheed realized that Madame Kartz suspected the existence of a relation between his boss and Monsieur Savoi, and that she probably concluded that Monsieur Savoi and Madame McLean were held for ransom, something had to be done.
“Monsieur Savoi, you have defrauded my company and you should be prosecuted for that offence. Madame McLean, you were very unwise to try helping your uncle. You could also be facing criminal charges for being an accessory before the fact.” Mohammed put his arm around his niece’s shoulders in a consoling fashion and murmured something in her ear.
“As for you, Monsieur Hjamal, I regret to say that you have only one choice now. You need to strike a partnership with Carmine so that we can work toward attaining your goal and expunge some of your crimes. You deceived your government. You took possession of a valuable piece of land that did not belong to you. Furthermore, you used the worst means possible to entice people to follow in your designs. What none of us knew or even suspected however, until yesterday, and which will be your saving grace today, is that you, Monsieur Hjamal, amid all your obsessive plans, had also designed a replacement village for the inhabitants of Sabodala. It is my sincere belief that you will be able to atone for your sins once you see Sabodala resurrected on the third hill.” James looked at Hassan fixedly and smiled.
116
James then returned his attention once more to the gathering, and closing the folder in front of him, he said, “The rest of Madame Kartz’s statement are only made out of notes, which will have yet to be recorded. So I will not impose further reading on you for the moment.” He turned to Talya. “I will, however, ask Madame Kartz to summarize the conclusions that she has drawn during the past few days.”
With some visible efforts, Talya began, “Madame McLean and gentlemen, we do not believe that Monsieur Rasheed killed Richard Gillman.”
At this announcement, there was a stir amongst the people around the table. Talya waited until the rustle abated and continued, “Monsieur Rasheed is guilty of ‘having murder in mind’ and should be found guilty of two attempted murders—”
“Two? Two attempted murders,” Hjamal interrupted, an astounded look on his face. “Madame Kartz, we, at least I don’t understand.”
“Yes, Monsieur Hjamal,” James answered, “your devoted associate has come back last night to haunt us. He wanted to rape and kill Madame Kartz.” Upon hearing these words, Talya saw Rheza put a hand to her mouth looking horrified. She was reliving her nightmare.
“Where is he? I’ll kill him myself,” Hjamal exploded, rising from his seat.
“Calm yourself, Monsieur Hjamal, and please, sit down,” James said, looking in Chief Mubarek’s direction.
When Hjamal lowered himself in the seat, Talya raised her head and saw Samir’s gaze focused on her. She went on, “As I was saying, Monsieur Rasheed wanted Richard dead, of course, but he did not perpetrate the crime.
“Richard was at the mine at the time. He had been working again for you, Monsieur Hjamal, for a few weeks. Although Richard should have arrived in Sabodala in December, he never completed his journey from Nouakchott to Dakar until weeks later.
“As James said, Richard was an occasional drug user but he was a trafficker first and foremost. When I read his letter, I told Maitre Sangor that I felt a sense of unreal. Not because it was written in the third person, but because it had been written by someone under the influence of some powerful drugs. Later on, I concluded that, when Richard was first in Senegal, he wanted to pursue his trafficking activities and he succeeded to some degree. He went from Sabodala to Dakar on a regular basis and sent messages to South America, contacted other mules and made plans to use Monsieur Hjamal’s connections in West Africa to further his endeavours.
“The one person who soon realized what Richard was doing was Johan Van Burren. Johan may be many things, as James explained, but he is also from the old school and drugs are not even part of his vocabulary. Johan uncovered the scheme, a scheme, which I might add, involved Monsieur Rasheed. When he came to Bamako and told Maitre Sangor and I that he had invested in Sabodala and was looking for a way to recover his money, I became extremely suspicious. When I was told that Richard never made the last leg of his trip from Nouakchott, and when I was shown proof of Richard’s activities in Mauritania under the auspices of some drug cartel operating out of Florida, I was convinced that our Monsieur Rasheed was a drug lord, or occupied a place very near that echelon.
“It was only logical to think that Richard at first had no connections to speak of on this continent. As Johan said to me, “It was Richard’s first time in Africa.” So how could Richard establish a drug ring in West Africa when he knew no one? The answer was obvious. Monsieur Rasheed was the link. It couldn’t have been Monsieur Hjamal, otherwise, why would he have needed money? There are many money-laundering opportunities floating about this world and he could have easily found one that would have served the purpose.
“Moreover, I was also convinced that the first purpose for which Monsieur Rasheed got involved in Sabodala was to establish such a drug ring and a money laundering facility. However, with you, Monsieur Hjamal, being so suspicious of everyone, Monsieur Rasheed couldn’t activate the scheme until Richard came on the scene.
“So, when you went to Toronto, Monsieur Hjamal, and you engaged Richard again, he saw his second opportunity on the horizon. He took the ticket and flew to Nouakchott where he met Rasheed. They re-opened the ring, and drugs were ready to flow through once again.
“Except for Johan finding out about the scheme, the two collaborators had no problems. However, Johan had a problem of his own, the nitro-glycerine. Using it without permit was not something he wanted to do. He desperately wanted to find a mining partner for Monsieur Hjamal. He went in search of such a company and even went as far as Zimbabwe in quest of people who would take over the project or lend a hand to Monsieur Hjamal in his venture.
“After verifying that in fact Johan was in Senegal at the time of the murder, I drew a picture—A picture of an involuntary manslaughter.”
Johan, who had remained silent and inconspicuous to this moment, looked at Talya with pleading eyes. She went on uncompromisingly.
“On the day of Richard’s slaying, Monsieur Rasheed decided to lure him to Yoff’s beach under the pretext or other that they had to talk. He brought with him a package containing drugs and a hypodermic needle. Drug trafficking is a dangerous business and a user usually has no place in a ring, because when you’re under the influence, you might talk and say the wrong thing to the wrong people. Since Richard’s drug use became more than occasional, he had to be eliminated for good.
“When Johan heard of the proposed meeting, he came back to Dakar at the same time as Richard did. Johan had in mind to try stopping Richard on the one hand, and prevent Rasheed from pursuing him or break the ring somehow, on the other.
“Richard went to his appointment on Yoff’s beach first and waited. He was dressed in ‘an expensive Italian suit’ the police report told us. He probably planned to have an evening out or came back from dinner in town. Either way, he was waiting for Rasheed. When the man arrived, they began talking under the watchful eye of Johan Van Burren. When Johan saw the package that was handed to Richard, he couldn’t hold his peace any longer. He waited impatiently for Rasheed to depart and went to join Richard on the beach. They talked, the discussion heated up and finally Johan took the needle out of the package and told Richard to go ahead and ruin his life. Richard, in need of a fix (as the saying goes), took the needle and injected himself the fatal dose of cocaine.”
Had there been a fly to pierce the silence, it would have been heard across the entire conference room. Talya reclined in her seat before concluding. She was exhausted.
“You see, gentlemen, and Madame McLean, there were several things that bothered me about Richard’s death. First, I looked at the reason for his slaying—to keep him silent about his past, his kidnapping or his alleged torture. No, that was not the entire motive for the murder. There had to be something else, and secondly, the timing of his death—months after he had left Senegal and upon his returning to this country. Why? Was the question I posed over and over again. Richard came back to do a job, on his own, not on behalf of a company but as a consultant. So, why killing him now after all those months had elapsed and the dust had settled?
“I have now presented you with my answers to these questions and an end to what I will remember as The Savoi Affair. As Maitre Sangor will tell you, I have neither power nor any authority to see justice done in this country or in Mali, but I will ask that God be merciful on our souls.”
117
After the rustle and murmurs around the table had died down, James said, “Monsieur Hjamal, I think you can see for yourself the result of your unfortunate association with a criminal, your misplaced trust and your infinitely more dangerous obsession,” addressing his new ‘partner’ admonishingly.
Chief Mubarek then began speaking. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have heard your stories and I have your statements. Monsieur Rasheed is safely behind bars and I will ask Monsieur Van Burren to come with me now to make a statement as a material witness. I will have several questions for you, sir, regarding the whereabouts of the package and hypodermic needle, the injection from which we confirmed killed Monsieur Gillman.”
“Yes, I have the package in my room with the needle,” Johan said, looking down at the cup of coffee in front of him. “I tried to revive Richard when I thought his reaction to the injection looked peculiar—”
“Sir….” Chief Mubarek raised a hand to stop Johan from making any further admission. “I suggest you don’t say anymore until we have time to sort this out. You should come with me now.”
Johan got up and looked down at Talya. He was ready to leave. “Talya, I’m sorry…”
She didn’t answer. She had only pity in her heart for this old friend.
Getting to his feet, Mubarek directed his attention to James. “Monsieur Flaubert, Madame Kartz and Maitre Sangor, I will ask you to remain in town until we clear a few details.”
118
Mohammed and Rheza went home the night of the meeting, but not before alerting the Malian authorities that he was bringing Savoi back to Bamako to face charges of embezzlement and corruption. Once in Bamako, Mohammed intended to draw a plan, with James’s assistance, by which Rheza would recover her funds.
Upon his release, Johan had a long talk with Talya one afternoon before his departure for Amsterdam. He had decided to retire.
Hjamal had been hauled in for questioning on a couple of occasions regarding his involvement in this affair. Upon the dropping of all charges against him, he and James sat for hours, drawing draft agreements and plans with Hassan’s capable help.
As for Talya, when her body stopped aching, she went on joy rides in Samir’s plane. She loved to be in his company. They talked endlessly.
“Do you have anyone waiting for you in Vancouver?” Samir asked unexpectedly during one of their outings amid the clouds and the turquoise skies of Senegal.
“What do you mean—someone like a mother or family?”
“No, and I think you know what I meant. So, do you have someone waiting for you?”
Talya didn’t want to answer, because the thought of her friend, Aziz, not even acknowledging her phone calls or faxes that she had sent to him during the first week she was in Africa, was painful and unwanted.
“I see that there is someone, but someone who has not answered your calls. Am I not correct?” How could he have known that? Talya had not breathed a word of her relationship with Aziz to anyone. She turned her head to her companion who looked straight ahead of him.
“Yes, there is someone who didn’t answer my calls, as you say. But he’s a physician and his patients take most of his time … and …” Talya didn’t want to continue with this conversation.
“I am sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, but I sensed that your thoughts were somewhere else or with someone else today, so I asked. Pardon me for intruding.”
“I thought he was a friend, but I guess I was wrong.”
“There is no need to be sad, Talya. You will soon know the reasons for his silence and maybe those reasons will be good enough for you to remain his friend after all.”
119
Relegated to a more modest room, since her sumptuous apartment was now a crime scene, Talya was reading in bed when Hassan knocked at her door.
He had just come back from a lengthy meeting with James. “May I come in?”
“Sure,” she said, extending her arms out to him, smiling. Again, unwanted tears began rolling down her cheeks.
“Talya, what’s wrong?”
When he was close to her, she put her arms around him in hope that she would feel the need for his love….
“I love you…. Why are you so cold?” he whispered in her ear.
“Rasheed. He’s the reason.” She was scared. All she wanted to feel, all she so desperately needed to feel, seemed held back by the vision of ugliness—the ugliness of Rasheed. She tried not to close her eyes—to look into Hassan’s eyes—to seek refuge in his love, and she feared to turn away, for Rasheed’s face was lurking, waiting for her in the room, over her, staring down at her, uttering ugly words.
“I have only one face looking at me when I go to sleep and when I awake and that’s Rasheed’s face. He is everywhere.”
“Shhh, Talya, it’s all right … I’ll be here when you get back,” Hassan said as he caressed her hair.

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 21.05.2011

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